l««n»1Ht««iHUM)Hdjfl.iiaiti;-:«Hj5Hj«s,«M«]|«s«jjKi.,Ja»s«>«HMni«inHR!3HIflJHsaf 


ill  IP 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


--^ 
^ 


•   Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 
in  2010  witii  funding  from 
University  of  Nortii  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/whogoestherestorOObens 


WHO    GOES   THEEE? 

THE  STORY  OF  A  SPY  IN  THE  CIVIL  WAR 


■;^^y^- 


WHO    GOES   THERE? 


THE  STORY  OF  A  SPY 


IN 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 


BY 

B.   K.   BENSON 


THE   MACMH^LAN   COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 
1900 

All  rights  reserved 


coptrisht,  1900, 
By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANT. 


Norfaooli  i|rfB9 

J.  S.  Cuihing  Si  Co.  -  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


PA.OB 

Introduction vii 

CHAPTEK 

I.     The  Advance 1 

n.    A  Shameful  Day 6 

III.  I   BREAK   MY   MuSKET 10 

IV.  A  Personage 18 

V.    With  the  Doctor  in  Camp 25 

VI.     The  Uses  of  Infirmity 34 

VII.     A  Second  Disaster 44 

VIII.     The  Two  Souths 58 

IX.    Killing  Time 63 

X.    The  Line  of  the  Warwick 79 

XI.     Fort  Willis 95 

XII.    More  Active  Service 119 

Xni.    Jones  on  the  Black  Horse 135 

XIV.    Out  of  Sorts 149 

XV.  With  the  Doctor  on  the  Right  ....  158 

XVI.    Between  the  Lines 166 

XVn.     The  Lines  of  Hanover 183 

XVIII.    The  Battle  of  Hanover 209 

XIX.     The  Accursed  Night 228 

XX.    The  Mask  of  Ignorance 256 

XXI.     One  More  Confederate 274 

XXII.     Company  H 291 

XXUI.    A  Lesson  in  History 307 

V 


602720 


VI 


CONTENTS 


OHAPTES  PACK 

XXIV.    Before  the  Great  Battle         ....  313 

XXV.    In  the  Great  Battle 330 

XXVI.     A  Broken  Musket 341 

XXVII.     Captain  Haskell 358 

XXVm.    Beyond  the  Potomac .369 

XXIX.     Forebodings 379 

XXX.    Two  Short  Campaigns 383 

XXXI.    Gloom 394 

XXXII.    Night 410 

XXXIII.  Hell 418 

XXXIV.  Falling  Waters 423 

XXXV.     Awakenings 427 

XXXVI.     The  Alphabet 436 

XXXVII.    A  Double 444 

XXXVIII.    Identity 459 

XXXIX.     Reparation 468 

XL.    Conclusion 484 

MAPS 

1.  Where  Berwick  broke  his  Musket 15 

2.  Hanover  Court-house 169 

3.  Virginia 309 

4.  Where  Jones  found  a  Broken  Musket  ....  350 


INTRODUCTION 

"I'll  note  you  in  my  book  of  memory."  —  Shakespeare. 

From  early  childhood  I  had  been  subject  to  a  peculiar  malady. 
I  say  malady  for  want  of  a  better  and  truer  word,  for  my  con- 
dition had  never  been  one  of  physical  or  mental  suffering. 
According  to  my  father's  opinion,  an  attack  of  brain  fever  had 
caused  me,  when  five  years  old,  to  lose  my  memory  for  a  time 
—  not  indeed  my  memory  entirely,  but  my  ability  to  recall  the 
events  and  the  mental  impressions  of  a  recent  period.  The 
physicians  had  agreed  that  the  trouble  would  pass  away,  but  it 
had  been  repeated  more  than  once.  At  the  age  of  ten,  when 
occurred  the  first  attack  which  I  remember,  I  was  at  school 
in  my  native  New  England  village.  One  very  cold  day  I  was 
running  home  after  school,  when  my  foot  slipped  on  a  frozen 
pool.  My  head  struck  the  ice,  but  I  felt  no  great  pain,  and 
was  almost  at  once  on  my  feet.  I  was  bewildered  with  what  I 
saw  around  me.  Seemingly  I  had  just  risen  from  my  seat  at 
the  breakfast  table  to  find  myself  in  the  open  air,  in  solitude, 
in  clothing  too  heavy,  with  hands  and  feet  too  large,  and  with 
a  July  world  suddenly  changed  to  midwinter.  As  it  happened, 
my  father  was  near,  and  took  me  home.  When  the  physicians 
came,  they  asked  me  many  questions  which  I  could  not  under- 
stand. 

Next  morning  my  father  sat  by  my  bed  and  questioned  me 
again.  He  inquired  about  my  studies,  about  my  classmates, 
about  my  teacher,  about  the  school  games.  Many  of  his  ques- 
tions seemed  strange  to  me,  and  I  answered  them  in  such  words 
that  he  soon  knew  there  was  an  interval  of  more  than  six  months 
in  my  consciousness.     He  then  tried  to  learn  whether  there 

vii 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

remained  in  my  mind  any  effect  of  my  studies  during  the  past 
term.  The  result  was  surprising.  He  found  that  as  to  actual 
knowledge  ray  mind  retained  the  power  developed  by  its  exer- 
cise, —  without,  however,  holding  all  details  of  fact,  —  but  that, 
in  everything  not  positive,  my  experience  seemed  to  have  been 
utterly  lost.  I  knew  my  multiplication  table  thoroughly ;  I 
had  acquired  it  in  the  interval  now  forgotten.  I  could  write 
correctly,  and  my  ability  to  read  was  not  lessened.  But  when 
questions  concerning  historical  events,  either  general  or  local, 
were  asked,  my  answers  proved  that  I  had  lost  everything  that 
I  had  learned  for  the  six  months  past.  I  showed  but  little 
knowledge  of  new  games  on  the  playground,  and  utter  forget- 
fulness  of  the  reasons  for  and  against  the  Mexican  War  which 
was  now  going  on,  and  in  which,  on  the  previous  day,  I  had 
felt  the  eager  interest  of  a  healthy  boy. 

Moreover  my  brain  reproduced  the  most  striking  events  of 
my  last  period  of  normal  memory  with  indistinct  and  inaccu- 
rate images,  while  the  time  preceding  that  period  was  as  noth- 
ing to  me.  My  little  sister  had  died  when  I  was  six  years 
old ;  I  did  not  know  that  she  had  ever  lived ;  her  name,  even, 
was  strange  to  me. 

After  a  few  days  I  was  allowed  to  rise  from  bed,  to  which, 
in  my  own  opinion,  there  had  never  been  necessity  for  keeping 
me.  I  was  not,  however,  permitted  to  go  out  of  doors.  The 
result  of  the  doctors'  deliberations  was  a  strict  injunction  upon 
my  father  to  take  me  to  the  South  every  winter,  a  decision  due, 
perhaps,  to  the  fact  that  my  father  had  landed  interests  in 
South  Carolina.  At  any  rate,  my  father  soon  took  me  to  Charles- 
ton, where  I  was  again  put  to  school.  Doubtless  I  was  thus 
relieved  of  much  annoyance,  as  my  new  schoolmates  received 
me  without  showing  the  curiosity  which  would  have  irritated 
me  in  my  own  village. 

More  than  five  months  passed  before  my  memory  entirely 
returned  to  me.  The  change  was  gradual.  One  day,  at  the 
morning  recess,  a  group  of  boys  were  talking  about  the  Mexi- 


INTEODUCTION  ix 

can  War.  The  Palmetto  regiment  liad  distinguished  itself  in 
battle.  I  heard  a  big  boy  say,  "  Yes,  your  Uncle  Pierce  is  all 
right,  and  his  regiment  is  the  best  in  the  army."  I  felt  a  glow 
of  pride  at  this  praise  of  my  people  —  as  I  supposed  it  to  be. 
More  talk  followed,  however,  in  which  it  became  clear  that  the 
boys  were  not  speaking  of  Pranklin  Pierce  and  his  New  Hamp- 
shire men,  and  I  was  greatly  puzzled. 

A  few  days  afterward  the  city  was  in  mourning;  Colonel 
Pierce  M.  Butler,  the  brave  commander  of  the  South  Carolina 
regiment,  had  fallen  on  the  field  of  Churubusco. 

Now,  I  cannot  explain,  even  to  myself,  what  relation  had 
been  disturbed  by  this  event,  but  I  know  that  from  this  time  I 
began  to  collect,  vaguely  at  first,  the  incidents  of  my  whole 
former  life  ;  so  that,  when  my  father  sent  for  me  at  the  summer 
vacation,  I  had  entirely  recovered  my  lost  memory.  I  even  knew 
everything  that  had  happened  in  the  recent  interval,  so  that  my 
consciousness  held  an  uninterrupted  chain  of  all  past  events  of 
importance.  And  now  I  realized  with  wonder  one  of  the  mar- 
vellous compensations  of  nature.  My  brain  reproduced  form, 
size,  colour  —  any  quality  of  a  material  thing  seen  in  the  hiatus, 
so  vividly  that  the  actual  object  seemed  present  to  my  senses, 
while  I  could  feel  dimly,  what  I  now  know  more  thoroughly, 
that  my  memory  during  the  interval  had  operated  weakly,  if 
at  all,  on  matters  speculative,  so  called  —  questions  of  doubtful 
import,  questions  of  a  kind  upon  which  there  might  well  be 
more  than  one  opinion,  being  as  nothing  to  my  mind.  Although 
I  have  truly  said  that  I  cannot  explain  how  it  was  that  my 
mind  began  its  recovery,  yet  I  cannot  reason  away  the  belief 
that  the  first  step  was  an  act  of  sensitive  pride  —  the  realiza- 
tion that  it  made  some  difference  to  me  whether  the  New 
Hampshire  regiment  or  the  Palmetto  regiment  acquired  the 
greater  glory. 

My  father  continued  to  send  me  each  winter  to  Charleston, 
and  my  summers  were  spent  at  home.  By  the  time  I  was  fif- 
teen he  became  dissatisfied  with  my  progress,  and  decided  that 


X  INTRODUCTION 

I  should  return  to  the  South  for  the  winter  of  1853-4,  and  that 
if  there  should  be  no  recurrence  of  my  mental  peculiarity  he 
would  thereafter  put  me  in  the  hands  of  a  private  tutor  who 
should  prepare  me  for  college. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  # 

Por  fully  five  years  I  had  had  no  lapse  of  memory  and  my 
health  was  sound.  At  the  school  I  took  delight  in  athletic  sports, 
and  gained  a  reputation  among  the  Charleston  boys  for  being  an 
expert  especially  in  climbing.  My  studies,  while  not  neglected, 
were,  nevertheless,  considered  by  me  as  secondary  matters ;  I 
suppose  that  the  anxiety  shown  by  ray  father  for  my  health 
influenced  me  somewhat;  moreover,  I  had  a  natural  bent 
toward  bodily  rather  than  mental  exercise. 

The  feature  most  attractive  to  me  in  school  work  was  the 
debating  class.  As  a  sort  of  ex-officio  president  of  this  club, 
was  one  of  our  tutors,  whom  none  of  the  boys  seemed  greatly 
to  like.  He  was  called  Professor  Khayme  —  pronounced 
Ki-me.  Sometimes  the  principal  addressed  him  as  Doctor. 
He  certainly  was  a  very  learned  and  intelligent  man ;  for 
although  the  boys  had  him  in  dislike,  there  were  yet  many 
evidences  of  the  respect  he  commanded  from  better  judges 
than  schoolboys.  He  seemed,  at  various  times,  of  different 
ages.  He  might  be  anywhere  between  thirty  and  fifty.  He 
was  small  of  stature,  being  not  more  than  five  feet  tall,  and 
was  exceedingly  quick  and  energetic  in  his  movements,  while 
his  countenance  and  attitude,  no  matter  what  was  going  on, 
expressed  always  complete  self-control,  if  not  indifference. 
He  was  dark  —  almost  as  dark  as  an  Indian.  His  face  was 
narrow,  but  the  breadth  and  height  of  his  forehead  were  almost 
a  deformity.  He  had  no  beard,  and  yet  I  feel  sure  that  he 
never  used  a  razor.  I  rarely  saw  him  off  duty  without  a  pecul- 
iar black  pipe  in  his  mouth,  which  he  smoked  in  an  unusual 
way,  emitting  the  smoke  at  very  long  intervals.  It  was  a 
standing  jest  with  my  irreverent  schoolmates  that  "Old  Ky" 
owed  his  fine,  rich  colour  to  smoking  through  his  skin.     Ingram 


INTEODUCTION  xi 

Hall  said  that  the  carved  Hindoo  idol  which  decorated  the 
professor's  pipe  was  the  very  image  of  "  Old  Ky  "  himself. 

Our  debating  class  sometimes  prepared  oratorical  displays 
to  which  were  admitted  a  favoured  few  of  the  general  public. 
To  my  dying  day  I  shall  remember  one  of  these  occasions. 
The  debate,  so  celebrated,  between  the  great  Carolinian  Hayne 
and  our  own  Webster  was  the  feature  of  the  entertainment. 
Behind  the  curtain  sat  Professor  Khayme,  prompter  and  gen- 
eral manager.  A  boy  with  mighty  lungs  and  violent  gesticu- 
lation recited  an  abridgment  of  Hayne's  speech,  beginning :  — 

"  If  there  be  oue  State  in  the  Union,  Mr.  President,  and  I  say  it  not  in 
a  boastful  spirit,  that  may  challenge  comparison  with  any  other  for  a 
uniform,  zealous,  ardent,  and  \mcalculating  devotion  to  the  Union,  that 
State  is  South  Carolina." 

Great  applause  followed.  These  were  times  of  sectional 
compromise.  I  also  applauded.  We  were  under  the  falsely 
quieting  influence  of  Douglas's  Kansas-Nebraska  Bill.  There 
was  effort  for  harmony  between  the  sections.  The  majority  of 
thinking  people  considered  true  patriotism  to  concist  in  patience 
and  charity  each  to  each.  Mrs.  Beecher  Stowe's  "  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin  "  had  appeared,  but  few  Southerners  had  read  it  or  would 
read  it.     I  also  applauded. 

Professor  Khayme  now  came  forward  on  the  rostrum,  and 
announced  that  the  next  part  of  the  programme  would  be 
" '  Webster's  Beply  to  Hayne,'  to  be  recited  "  —  and  here  the 
professor  paused — "by  Master  Jones  Berwick." 

I  was  thunderstruck.  No  intimation  of  any  kind  had  been 
given  me  that  I  was  to  be  called  on.  I  decided  at  once  to 
refuse  to  attempt  an  impossibility.  As  I  rose  to  explain  and 
to  make  excuses,  the  boys  all  over  the  hall  cried,  "  Berwick  ! 
Berwick !  "  and  clapped  loudly.  Then  the  professor  said,  in  a 
low  and  musical  voice,  —  and  his  voice  was  by  far  his  greatest 
apparent  attraction,  — that  Master  Berwick  had  not  been  origi- 
nally selected  to  recite,  but  that  the  young  orator  chosen  for 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

the  duty  had  been  called  away  unexpectedly,  and  that  it  was 
well  known  that  Master  Berwick,  being  a  compatriot  of  the 
great  Webster,  and  being  not  only  thoroughly  competent  to 
declaim  the  abridged  form  of  the  speech  in  question,  but  also 
in  politics  thoroughly  at  one  with  the  famous  orator,  could 
serve  with  facility  in  the  stead  of  the  absentee,  and  would 
certainly  sustain  the  reputation  of  the  club. 

How  I  hated  that  man !  Yet  I  could  see,  as  I  caught  his 
eye,  I  know  not  what  of  encouragement.  I  had  often  heard 
the  speech  recited,  but  not  recently,  and  I  could  not  see  my 
way  through. 

I  stumbled  somehow  to  the  back  of  the  curtain.  The  Doc- 
tor said  to  me,  in  a  tone  I  had  never  heard  before,  "  Be  brave, 
my  boy ;  I  pledge  you  my  word  as  a  gentleman  that  you  shall 
succeed.  Come  to  this  light."  Then  he  seemed  to  be  brush- 
ing my  hair  back  with  a  few  soft  finger-touches,  and  I  remem- 
bered no  more  until  I  found  myself  on  the  rostrum  listening 
to  a  perfect  din  of  applause  that  covered  the  close  of  my 
speech.  If  there  were  any  fire-eaters  in  that  audience,  they 
were  Carolina  aristocrats  and  knew  how  to  be  polite,  even  to  a 
fault. 

I  could  not  understand  my  success;  I  had  vague  inward 
intimation  that  it  was  not  mine  alone.  My  identity  seemed  to 
have  departed  for  the  time ;  I  felt  that  some  wonderful  change 
had  been  wrought  in  me,  and,  youngster  though  I  was,  I  was 
amazed  to  think  what  might  be  the  possibilities  of  the  mind. 
******* 

For  some  time  after  this  incident  I  tried  to  avoid  Doctor 
Khayme,  but  as  he  had  charge  of  our  rhetoric  and  French,  as 
well  as  oratory,  it  was  impossible  that  we  should  not  meet. 
In  class  he  was  reserved  and  confined  himself  strictly  to  his 
duties,  never  by  tone  or  look  varying  his  prescribed  relation 
to  the  class;  yet,  through  his  outward  gravity  and  seeming 
indifference,  I  sometimes  felt  that  he  influenced  me  by  a  power 
which  no  other  man  exerted  over  me. 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

One  afternoon,  returning  from  school  to  my  quarters,  I  had 
just  crossed  Meeting  Street  when  I  felt  a  light  hand  on  my 
shoulder,  and,  turning,  I  saw  Doctor  Khayme. 

"  Allow  me  to  walk  with  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

He  did  not  wait  for  an  answer,  but  continued  at  once:  "I 
have  from  your  father  a  letter  in  relation  to  your  health.  He 
says  that  he  is  uneasy  about  you." 

"  I  was  never  better  in  my  life,  sir,"  said  I ;  "he  has  no 
reason  to  be  worried." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  be  able  to  relieve  his  mind,"  said  the 
Doctor. 

Now,  I  had  wit  enough  to  observe  that  the  Doctor  had  not 
said  "I  am  glad,"  but  "I  shall  be  glad,"  and  I  asked,  "Do  you 
think  I  am  wrong  in  health  ?  " 

"  Not  seriously,"  he  replied ;  "  but  I  think  it  will  be  well 
for  you  to  see  the  letter,  and  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to 
accompany  me  to  my  lodging,  I  will  show  it  to  you." 

Dr.  Khayme's  "lodging"  proved  to  be  a  small  cottage  on 
one  of  the  side  streets.  There  was  a  miniature  garden  in 
front :  vines  clambered  over  the  porch  and  were  trained  so 
that  they  almost  hid  the  windows.  An  old  woman,  who  seemed 
to  be  housekeeper,  cook,  and  everything  that  a  general  servant 
may  be,  opened  to  his  knock. 

"I  never  carry  a  key,"  said  the  Doctor,  seemingly  in  re- 
sponse to  my  thought. 

I  was  led  into  a  bright  room  in  the  back  of  the  house.  The 
windows  looked  on  the  sunset.  The  floor  was  bare,  except  in 
front  of  the  grate,  where  was  spread  the  skin  of  some  strange 
animal.  For  the  rest,  there  was  nothing  remarkable  about  the 
apartment.  An  old  bookcase  in  a  corner  seemed  packed  to 
bursting  with  dusty  volumes  in  antique  covers.  A  writing- 
table,  littered  and  piled  with  papers,  was  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  there  were  a  few  easy-chairs,  into  one  of  which  the 
Doctor  motioned  me. 

Excusing  himself  a  moment,  he  went  to  the  mantel,  took 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

down  a  pipe  with  a  long  stem,  and  began  to  stuff  the  bowl 
with  tobacco  which  I  saw  was  very  black  ;  while  he  was 
doing  so,  I  recognized  on  the  pipe  the  carven  image  of  an 
idol. 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  ''  I  see  no  good  in  changing." 
I  did  not  say  anything  to  this  speech ;  I  did  not  know  what 
he  meant. 

He  went  to  his  desk,  took  my  father's  letter  from  a  drawer, 
and  handed  it  to  me.     I  read :  — 

"  My  dear  Sir  :  Pardon  the  liberty  I  take  in  writing  to  you.  My 
son,  who  is  under  your  charge  in  part,  causes  me  great  uneasiness.  I 
need  not  say  to  you  that  he  has  a  mind  above  the  average  —  you  will 
have  already  discovered  this  ;  but  I  wrish  to  say  that  his  mind  has  passed 
through  strange  experiences  and  that  possibly  he  must  —  though  God 
forbid  —  go  through  more  of  such.  A  friend  of  mine  has  convinced  me 
that  you  can  help  my  boy.  Yours  very  truly, 

"Jones  Berwick,  Sr." 

When  I  had  read  this  letter,  it  came  upon  me  that  it  was 
strange,  especially  in  its  abrupt  ending.  I  looked  at  the  Doctor 
and  offered  the  letter  to  him. 

"  No,"  said  he ;  "  keep  it ;  put  it  in  your  pocket." 

I  did  as  he  said,  and  waited.  For  a  short  time  Dr.  Khayme 
sat  with  the  amber  mouthpiece  of  his  pipe  between  his  lips ; 
his  eyes  were  turned  from  me. 

He  rose,  and  put  his  pipe  back  on  the  mantel ;  then  turning 
toward  me,  and  yet  standing,  he  looked  upon  me  gravely,  and 
said  very  slowly,  "  I  do  not  think  it  advisable  to  ask  you  to 
tell  me  what  the  mental  experiences  are  to  which  your  father 
alludes ;  it  may  be  best  that  you  should  not  speak  of  them  ; 
it  may  be  best  that  you  should  not  think  of  them.  I  am  sure 
that  I  can  help  you ;  I  am  sure  that  your  telling  me  your  his- 
tory could  not  cause  me  to  help  you  more." 

I  was  silent.  The  voice  of  the  man  was  grave,  and  low,  and 
Bweet.     I  could  see  no  expression  in  his  face.     His  dark  eyes 


INTEODUCTION  xv 

seemed  fixed  on  me,  but  I  felt  that  he  was  looking  through  me 
at  something  beyond. 

Again  he  spoke.  "  I  think  that  what  you  need  is  to  exert 
your  will.  I  can  help  you  to  do  that.  You  are  very  recep- 
tive ;  you  have  great  will-power  also,  but  you  have  not  culti- 
vated that  power.  This  is  a  critical  time  in  your  life.  You 
are  becoming  a  man.  You  must  use  your  will.  I  can  help 
you  by  making  you  see  that  you  can  use  your  will,  and  that 
the  will  is  very  powerful — that  your  will  is  very  powerful. 
He  who  has  confidence  in  his  own  will-power  will  exert  it.  I 
can  help  you  to  have  confidence.  But  I  cannot  exert  your 
will  for  you ;  you  must  do  that.  To  begin  with,  I  shall  give 
you  a  very  simple  task.  I  think  I  can  understand  a  little 
your  present  attitude  toward  me.  You  are  in  doubt.  I  wish 
you  to  be  in  doubt,  for  the  moment.  I  wish  your  curiosity 
and  desires  for  and  against  to  be  so  evenly  balanced  that  you 
will  have  no  difficulty  in  choosing  for  or  against.  You  are 
just  in  that  condition.  You  have  feared  and  mistrusted  me ; 
now  your  fear  and  suspicion  are  leaving  you,  and  curiosity  is 
balancing  against  indolence.  I  do  not  bid  you  to  make  an 
effort  to  will ;  I  leave  it  entirely  to  you  to  determine  now 
whether  you  will  struggle  against  weakness  or  submit  to  it ; 
whether  you  will  begin  to  use  your  sleeping  will-power  or  else 
continue  to  accept  what  comes." 

I  rose  to  my  feet  at  once. 

"  What  is  your  decision  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor  smiling  —  the 
first  smile  I  had  ever  seen  on  his  face. 

"  I  will  be  a  man  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

I  became  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  Doctor's,  and  gradually 
learned  more  and  more  of  this  remarkable  man.  His  little 
daughter  told  me  much  that  I  could  never  have  guessed.  She 
was  a  very  serious  child,  perhaps  of  eleven  years,  and  not  very 
attractive.  In  fact,  she  was  ugly,  but  her  gravity  seemed 
somehow  to  suit  her  so  well  that  I  could  by  no  means  dislike 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

her.  Her  father  was  very  fond  of  her ;  of  an  evening  the  three 
of  us  would  sit  in  the  west  room;  the  Doctor  would  smoke  and 
read ;  I  would  read  some  special  matter  —  usually  on  philoso- 
phy—  selected  by  my  tutor;  Lydia  would  sit  silently  by, 
engaged  in  sewing  or  knitting,  and  absorbed  seemingly  in  her 
own  imaginings.  Lydia  at  one  time  said  some  words  which  I 
could  not  exactly  catch,  and  which  made  me  doubt  the  seeming 
poverty  of  her  father,  but  I  attributed  her  speech  to  the  nat- 
ural pride  of  a  child  who  thinks  its  father  great  in  every  way. 
I  was  not  greatly  interested,  moreover,  in  the  domestic  affairs 
of  the  household,  and  never  thought  of  asking  for  information 
that  seemed  withheld.  I  learned  from  the  child's  talk,  at  odd 
times  when  the  Doctor  would  be  absent  from  the  room,  that 
they  were  foreigners,  —  a  fact  which  I  had  already  taken  for 
granted,  —  but  I  was  never  made  to  know  the  land  of  their 
birth.  It  was  certain  that  Dr.  Khayme  could  speak  German 
and  French,  and  I  could  frequently  see  him  reading  in  books 
printed  in  characters  unknown  to  me.  Several  times  I  have 
happened  to  come  unexpectedly  into  the  presence  of  the  father 
and  daughter  when  they  were  conversing  in  a  tongue  which  I 
was  sure  I  had  never  heard.  The  Doctor  had  no  companions. 
He  was  at  home,  or  at  school,  or  else  on  the  way  from  the  one 
to  the  other.  No  visitor  ever  showed  himself  when  I  was  at 
the  cottage.  Lydia  attended  the  convent  school.  I  under- 
stood from  remarks  dropped  incidentally,  as  well  as  from  see- 
ing the  books  she  had,  that  her  studies  were  the  languages  in 
the  main,  and  I  had  strong  evidence  that,  young  as  she  was, 
her  proficiency  in  French  and  German  far  exceeded  my  own 
acquirements. 

By  degrees  I  learned  that  the  Doctor  was  deeply  interested 
in  what  we  would  call  speculative  philosophy.  I  say  by 
degrees,  for  the  experience  I  am  now  writing  down  embraces 
the  winters  of  five  or  six  years.  Most  of  the  books  that  com- 
posed his  library  were  abstruse  treatises  on  metaphysics, 
philosophy,   and  religion.      I  believe  that  in  his  collection 


INTKODUCTION"  xvii 

could  have  been  found  the  Bible  of  every  religious  faith. 
Sometimes  he  would  read  aloud  a  passage  in  the  Bhagavadgita, 
of  "which  he  had  a  manuscript  copy  interleaved  with  annota- 
tions in  his  own  delicate  handwriting. 

He  seldom  spoke  of  the  past,  but  he  seemed  strangely  inter- 
ested in  the  political  condition  of  every  civilized  nation.  The 
future  of  the  human  race  was  a  subject  to  which  he  undoubtedly 
gave  much  thought.  I  have  heard  him  more  than  once  declare, 
with  emphasis,  that  the  outlook  for  the  advancement  of 
America  was  not  auspicious.  In  regard  to  the  sectional  dis- 
cord in  the  United  States,  he  showed  a  strange  unconcern.  I 
knew  that  he  believed  it  a  matter  of  indifference  whether 
secession,  of  which  we  were  beginning  again  to  hear  some 
mutterings,  was  a  constitutional  right;  but  on  the  question  of 
slavery  his  interest  was  intense.  He  believed  that  slavery 
could  not  endure,  let  secession  be  attempted  or  abandoned,  let 
secession  fail  or  succeed. 

In  my  vacations  I  spoke  to  my  father  of  the  profound  man 
who  had  interested  himself  in  my  mental  welfare;  my  father 
approved  the  intimacy.  He  did  not  know  Dr.  Khayme  per- 
sonally, but  he  had  much  reason  to  believe  him  a  worthy  man. 
I  had  never  said  anything  to  my  father  about  the  note  he  had 
written  to  the  Doctor;  for  a  long  time,  in  fact,  the  thought  of 
doing  so  did  not  come  to  me,  and  when  it  did  come  I  decided 
that,  since  my  father  had  not  mentioned  the  matter,  it  was  not 
for  me  to  do  so;  it  was  a  peculiar  note. 

My  father  gave  me  to  know  that  his  former  wish  to  abridge 
my  life  in  the  South  had  given  way  to  his  fears,  and  that  I 
was  to  continue  to  spend  my  winters  in  Charleston.  In  after 
years  I  learned  that  Dr.  Khayme  had  not  thought  my  condition 
exempt  from  danger. 

So  had  passed  the  winters  and  vacations  until  the  fall  of 
'57,  without  recurrence  of  my  trouble.  I  no  longer  feared  a 
lapse;  my  father  and  the  physicians  agreed  that  my  migrations 
should  cease,  and  I  entered  college.     I  wrote  Dr.  Khayme  a 


xviii  INTKODUCTION 

letter,  in  which  I  expressed  great  regret  on  account  of  our 
separation,  but  I  received  no  reply. 

On  Christmas  Day  of  this  year,  1857,  I  was  at  home.  Sud- 
denly, even  without  the  least  premonition  or  obvious  cause,  I 
suffered  lapse  of  memory.  The  period  affected  embraced,  with 
remarkable  exactness,  all  the  time  that  had  elapsed  since  I 
had  last  seen  Dr.  Khayme. 

Early  in  January  my  father  accompanied  me  to  Charleston. 
He  was  induced  to  take  me  there  because  I  was  conscious  of 
nothing  that  had  happened  since  the  last  day  I  spent  there, 
and  he  was,  moreover,  very  anxious  to  meet  Dr.  Khayme. 
We  learned,  on  our  arrival  in  Charleston,  however,  that  the 
Doctor  and  his  daughter  had  sailed  for  Liverpool  early  in 
September.  My  father  and  I  travelled  in  the  South  until 
November,  1858,  when  my  memory  was  completely  restored. 
He  then  returned  to  Massachusetts,  leaving  me  in  Carolina, 
and  I  did  not  return  to  the  North  until  August,  1860. 
******* 

The  military  enthusiasm  of  the  North,  aroused  by  the  firing 
on  Sumter,  was  contagious;  but  for  a  time  my  father  opposed 
my  desire  to  enter  the  army.  Beyond  the  fears  which  every 
parent  has,  he  doubted  the  effect  of  military  life  upon  my 
mental  nature.  Our  family  physician,  however,  was  upon  my 
side,  and  contended,  with  what  good  reason  I  did  not  know, 
that  the  active  life  of  war  would  be  a  benefit  rather  than  a 
harm  to  me ;  so  my  father  ceased  to  oppose,  and  I  enlisted. 


I    .  WHO    GOES   THERE? 


THE   STORY  OF  A   SPY  IX   THE   CIVIL  WAR 


WHO    GOES   THERE? 


THE    ADVANCE 

•'  Point  agaiust  point  rebellious,  arm  'gainst  arm."  —  Shakespeare. 

In  the  afternoon  we  broke  camp  and  marched  toward  the 
west.     It  was  July  16,  1861. 

The  bands  were  playing  "Carry  me  back  to  old  Virginia." 

I  was  in  the  Eleventh.  Orders  had  been  read,  but  little 
could  be  understood  by  men  in  the  ranks.  IsTothing  was  clear 
to  me,  in  these  orders,  except  two  things :  — 

First,  to  be  surprised  would  be  unpardonable. 

Second,  to  fall  back  would  be  unpardonable. 

******* 

It  was  four  o'clock.  The  road  was  ankle-deep  in  dust;  the 
sun  burnt  our  faces  as  we  marched  toward  the  west.  Up  hill 
and  down  hill,  up  hill  and  down  hill,  we  marched  for  an  hour, 
west  and  southwest. 

We  halted;  from  each  company  men  were  detailed  to  fill 
canteens.     The  city  could  no  longer  be  seen. 

Willis  pointed  to  the  north.  Willis  was  a  big,  red-haired 
sergeant  —  a  favourite  with  the  men. 

I  looked,  and  saw  clouds  of  dust  rising  a  mile  or  two  away. 

" Miles' s  division,"  says  Willis. 

"Wliat  is  on  our  left?" 

"Xothing,"  says  Willis. 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"We  are  the  left,"  says  Willis. 

B  1 


2  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

The  sergeant  had  studied  war  a  little;  he  had  some 
infallible  views. 

The  sergeant-major,  with  his  diamond  stripes,  and  his  short 
sword  saluting,  spoke  to  a  captain,  who  at  once  reported  to 
the  colonel  at  the  head  of  the  regiment.  The  captain  returned 
to  his  post:  — 

"  Comp-a-ny  —  B  .   .   .   Attextion!"  •  .  . 

"Shudda  .  .  .  Hop!"    .  .  . 

"Load!"  .  .  . 

"Shudda  .   .  .  Hop!"    .  .  . 

"  R-i-i-i-i-ght  .   .  .  Face  !  "  .  .  . 

"Fall  —  iv-u-u-u-d  .  .  .  Motch!"  ... 

''Fi  —  lpf  .   .   .   Motch!" 

Company  B  disappeared  in  the  bushes  on  our  left. 

The  water-detail  returned;  the  regiment  moved  forward. 

Passing  over  a  rising  ground,  Willis  pointed  to  the  left.  I 
could  see  some  black  spots  in  a  stubble-field. 

"Company  B;  skirmishers,"  says  Willis. 

"  Any  rebels  out  that  way?  " 

"Don't  know.     Right  to  be  ready  for  'em,"  says  Willis. 

Marching  orders  had  been  welcomed  by  the  men,  and  the 
first  few  miles  had  been  marked  by  jollity;  the  jest  repeated 
growing  from  four  to  four ;  great  shouts  had  risen  at  seeing 
the  dust  made  by  our  columns  advancing  on  parallel  roads. 
The  air  was  stagnant,  the  sun  directly  in  our  faces.  This 
little  peaked  infantry  cap  is  a  damnable  outrage.  The  straps 
across  my  shoulders  seemed  to  cut  my  flesh.  Great  drops 
rolled  down  my  face.  My  canteen  was  soon  dry.  The  men 
were  no  longer  erect  as  on  dress  parade.  Each  one  bent  over 
—  head  down.  The  officers  had  no  heavy  muskets  —  no  heavy 
cartridge-boxes;  they  marched  erect;  the  second  lieutenant 
was  using  his  sword  for  a  walking-cane.  "  Close  up !  "  shouted 
the  sergeants.     My  heels  were  sore.     The  dust  was  stifling. 

Another  halt;  a  new  detail  for  water. 

The  march  continued  —  a  stumbling,  staggering  march  in 


THE   ADVANCE  3 

the  darkness.  A  hundred  yards  and  a  halt  of  a  minute;  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  and  a  halt  of  half  an  hour;  an  exasperating 
march.  At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  we  were  permitted  to 
break  ranks.  I  was  too  tired  to  sleep.  Where  we  were  I 
knew  not,  and  I  know  not  —  somewhere  in  Fairfax  County, 
Virginia.  Willis,  who  was  near  me,  lying  on  his  blanket, 
his  cartridge-box  for  a  pillow,  said  that  we  were  the  left  of 
McDowell's  army;  that  the  centre  and  right  extended  for 
miles;  that  the  general  headquarters  ought  to  be  at  Fairfax 
Court-House  at  this  moment,  and  that  if  Beauregard  didn't 
look  sharp  he  would  wake  up  some  fine  morning  and  find  old 
Heintz  in  his  rear. 

******* 

Before  the  light  we  were  aroused  by  the  reveille. 

The  moving  and  halting  process  was  resumed,  and  was  kept 
up  for  many  hours.  We  reached  the  railroad.  Our  company 
was  sent  forward  to  relieve  the  pickets.  We  were  in  the 
woods,  and  within  a  hundred  yards  of  a  feeble  rivulet  which 
ran  from  west  to  east  almost  parallel  with  our  skirmish-line; 
nothing  could  be  seen  in  front  but  trees.  Beyond  the  streani 
vedettes  were  posted  on  a  ridge.  The  men  of  the  company 
were  in  position,  but  at  ease.  The  division  was  half  a  mile 
in  our  rear. 

I  was  lying  on  my  back  at  the  root  of  a  scrub-oak  very  like 
the  blackjacks  of  Georgia  and  the  Carolinas.  The  tree  caused 
me  to  think  of  my  many  sojourns  in  the  South.  Willis  was 
standing  a  few  yards  away ;  he  was  in  the  act  of  lighting  his 
pipe. 

"What's  that?"  said  he,  dropping  the  match. 

"What's  what?"  I  asked. 

"There!     Don't  you  hear  it?  two  —  three  —  " 

At  the  word  "three"  I  heard  distinctly,  in  the  far  north- 
west, a  low  rumble.  All  the  men  were  on  their  feet,  silent, 
serious.     Again  the  distant  cannon  was  heard. 

About  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  newspapers  from 


4  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

Washington  were  in  our  hands.  In  one  of  the  papers  a  cer- 
tain war  correspondent  had  outlined,  or  rather  amplified,  the 
plan  of  the  campaign.  Basing  his  prediction,  doubtless,  upon 
the  fact  that  he  knew  something  of  the  nature  of  the  advance 
begun  on  the  16th,  the  public  was  informed  that  Heintzelman's 
division  would  swing  far  to  the  left  until  the  rear  of  Beaure- 
gard's right  flank  was  reached;  at  the  same  time  Miles  and 
Hunter  would  seize  Fairfax  Court-House,  and  threaten  the 
enemy's  centre  and  left,  and  would  seriously  attack  when 
Heintzelman  should  give  the  signal.  Thus,  rolled  up  from 
the  right,  and  engaged  everywhere  else,  the  enemy's  defeat 
was  inevitable. 

The  papers  were  handed  from  one  to  another.  Willis 
chuckled  a  little  when  he  saw  his  own  view  seconded,  although 
he  was  beginning  to  be  afraid  that  his  plans  were  endangered. 

"  I  told  you  that  headquarters  last  night  would  be  Fairfax 
Court-House,"  said  he  ;  "but  the  firing  we  heard  awhile  ago 
means  that  our  troops  have  been  delayed.  Beauregard  is 
awake." 

Just  at  svmset  I  was  sent  forward  to  relieve  a  vedette. 
This  was  my  first  experience  of  the  kind.  A  sergeant  accom- 
panied me.  We  reached  a  spot  from  which,  through  the  trees, 
the  sentinel  could  be  seen.  He  was  facing  us,  instead  of  his 
front.  The  poor  fellow  —  Johnson,  of  our  company  —  had 
been  on  post  for  two  mortal  hours,  and  was  more  concerned 
about  the  relief  in  his  rear  than  about  the  enemy  that  might 
not  be  in  his  front.  The  sergeant  halted  within  a  few  paces 
of  the  vedette,  while  I  received  instructions.  I  was  to  ascer- 
tain from  the  sentinel  any  peculiarity  of  his  post  and  the 
general  condition  existing  in  his  front,  and  then  dismiss  him 
to  the  care  of  the  sergeant.  Johnson  could  tell  me  nothing. 
He  had  seen  nothing ;  had  heard  nothing.  He  retired  and  I 
was  alone. 

The  ground  was  somewhat  elevated,  but  not  sufficiently  so 
to  enable  one  to  see  far  in  front.     The  vedette  on  either  flank 


THE  ADVANCE  5 

was  invisible.  ISTight  was  falling.  A  few  faint  stars  began 
to  sMne.  A  thousand  insects  were  cheeping;  a  thousand 
frogs  in  disjointed  concert  welcomed  the  twilight.  A  gentle 
breeze  swayed  the  branches  of  the  tree  above  me.  Far  away 
—  to  right  or  left,  I  know  not  —  a  cow-bell  tinkled.  More 
stars  came  out.     The  wind  died  away. 

I  leaned  against  the  tree,  and  peered  into  the  darkness. 

I  wanted  to  be  a  good  soldier.  This  day  I  had  heard  for 
the  first  time  the  sound  of  hostile  arms.  I  thought  it  would 
be  but  natural  to  be  nervous,  and  I  found  myself  surprised 
when  I  decided  that  I  was  not  nervous.  The  cry  of  the  lone 
screech-owl  below  me  in  the  swamp  sounded  but  familiar 
and  appropriate. 

That  we  were  to  attack  the  enemy  I  well  knew;  a  battle 
was  certain  unless  the  enemy  should  retreat.  My  thoughts 
were  full  of  wars  and  battles.  My  present  duty  made  me 
think  of  Indians.  I  wondered  whether  the  rebels  were  well 
armed ;  I  knew  them  ;  I  knew  they  would  fight ;  I  had  lived 
among  those  misguided  people. 


II 

A   SHAMEFUL    DAT 
'  He  tires  betimes,  that  too  fast  spurs  betimes."  —  Shabiespeare. 

"  Fall  in,  men !    Fall  in,  Company  D !  " 

It  was  after  two  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  July  21. 

We  had.  scarcely  slept.  For  two  or  three  days  we  had 
been  in  a  constant  state  of  nervous  expectancy.  On  the  18th 
the  armed  reconnaissance  on  Bull  Run  had  brought  more  than 
our  generals  had  counted  on ;  we  had  heard  the  combat,  but 
had  taken  no  part  in  it.  Now  the  attack  by  the  left  had  been 
abandoned. 

The  early  part  of  the  night  of  the  20th  had  been  spent  in 
trying  to  get  rations ;  at  twelve  o'clock  we  had  two  days' 
cooked  rations  in  our  haversacks. 

At  about  three  o'clock  the  regiment  turned  south  into  the 
road  for  Centreville. 

Willis  said  that  we  were  to  flank  Beauregard's  left;  but 
nobody  took  the  trouble  to  assent  or  deny. 

At  Centreville  there  was  a  long  and  irksome  halt  ;  some 
lay  down  —  in  the  road  —  by  the  side  of  the  road;  some  kept 
their  feet  and  moved  about  impatiently. 

An  army  seemed  to  be  passing  in  the  road  before  our  col- 
umn, and  we  must  wait  till  the  way  w^as  clear. 

Little  noise  was  made  by  the  column  marching  on  the  road 
intersecting  ours.  There  was  light  laughter  occasionally,  but 
in  general  the  men  were  silent,  going  forward  with  rapid 
strides,  or  standing  stock  still  when  brought  to  an  abrupt 
halt  whenever  the  head  of  the  column  struck  an  obstacle. 

6 


A  SHAMEFUL  DAY  7 

I  slept  by  snatches,  awaking  every  time  in  a  jump.    Everybody 
was  nervous  ;  even  the  officers  could  not  hide  their  irritation. 
******* 

Six  o'clock  came.  The  road  was  clear ;  the  sun  was  nearly 
two  hours  high. 

Forward  we  went  at  a  swinging  gait  down  the  road  through 
the  dust.  In  ten  minutes  the  sweat  was  rolling.  No  halt  — 
no  pause  —  no  command,  except  the  everlasting  "  Close  up ! 
close  up ! " 

Seven  o'clock.  .  .we  turn  to  the  right  —  northwest  —  a 
neighbourhood  road ;  ■  .  .  fields ;  .  .  .  thickets ;  .  .  .  hills  — 
not  so  much  dust  now,  but  the  sun  getting  hotter  and  hot- 
ter, and  hotter  and  hotter  getting  our  thirst. 

And  Sunday  morning  .  .  .  Close  up !  close  up  ! 

Hear  it  ?  Along  the  southeast  the  horizon  smokes  and 
booms.     Hear  it?     The  cannon  roar  in  the  valley  below  us. 

Eight  o'clock  .  .  .  seven  miles ;  nine  o'clock  .  .  .  ten 
miles;  ...  a  ford — we  cross  at  double-quick;  ...  a 
bridge  —  we  cross  at  double-quick ;  the  sound  of  cannon  and 
small  arms  is  close  in  our  front. 

What  is  that  confusion  up  on  the  hill  ?  Smoke  and  dust  and 
fire. 

See  them  ?  Four  men  with  another  —  and  that  other,  how 
the  red  blood  streams  from  his  head ! 

What  are  they  doing  up  on  the  hill  ?  They  are  dying  up  on 
the  hill.     Why  should  they  die  ? 

Ah,  me !  ah,  me ! 

The  Eleventh  is  formed  at  the  foot  of  the  hill ;  the  com- 
mander rides  to  its  front : 

"  Colour  —  hearer  —  tivelce  — x>aces  —  to  the  front  —  March  ! 
Bat-tal-ion  — present  —  Akms  !  " 

Then,  with  drawn  sword,  the  colonel  also  salutes  the  flag  — 
and  cries,  Die  by  it  ! 

A  mortal  cold  goes  to  the  marrow  of  my  bones ;  my  com- 
rades' faces  are  white  as  death. 


8  WHO   GOES   THEEE? 

"Bat-tal-ion  — fix  —  Bayonets  ! 

"  For^ward  —  guide  centre  —  March  ! " 

Slowly  we  move  up  the  hill ;  the  line  sways  in  curves ;  we 
halt  and  re-form. 

We  lie  down  near  the  crest ;  shells  burst  over  us  ;  shells  fly 
with  a  dreadful  hissing  beyond  us.  I  raise  my  head;  right- 
oblique  is  a  battery ;  ...  it  is  hidden  in  smoke ;  again  I 
see  the  guns  and  the  horses  and  the  men ;  they  load  and  fire, 
load  and  fire. 

A  round  shot  strikes  the  ground  in  our  front  .  .  .  rises 
.  .  .  falls  .  .  .  rises  —  goes  over.     We  fire  at  the  smoke. 

Down  flat  on  your  face !  Do  you  hear  the  singing  in  the 
air  ?  Thop !  Johnson  is  hit ;  he  runs  to  the  rear,  bending 
over  until  his  height  is  lost. 

And  now  a  roar  like  that  of  a  waterfall ;  I  look  again  .  .  . 
the  battery  has  disappeared  .  .  .  but  the  smoke  rises  and  I 
see  a  long  line  of  men  come  out  of  the  far-off  woods  and  burst 
upon  the  guns.  The  men  of  the  battery  flee,  and  the  rebels 
swarm  among  the  captured  pieces. 

Now  there  are  no  more  hissing  shells  or  bullets  singing.  We 
rise  and  look,  —  to  our  right  a  regiment  is  marching  forward 
...  no  music,  no  drum  .  .  .  marching  forward,  flag  in  the 
centre  .  .  .  colonel  behind  the  centre,  dismounted,  —  tlie 
men  march  on  ;  quick  time,  right-shoulder-shift ;  the  fleeing 
cannoneers  find  safety  behind  the  regiment  always  marching 
on.  The  rebels  at  the  battery  are  not  in  line ;  some  try  to 
drag  away  the  guns ;  swords  flash  in  the  hot  sun ;  .  .  . 
the  rebels  re-form;  .  .  .  they  lie  down;  .  .  .  and  now  the 
regiment  is  at  double-quick  with  trailed  arms ;  .  .  .  the  rebel 
line  rises  and  delivers  its  fire. 

The  smoke  swallows  everything. 

Tf  TT  TT  TV  ^  •)?  -ff 

Again  I  see.  The  rebel  line  has  melted  away.  Our  own  men 
hold  the  battery.  They  try  to  turn  the  guns  once  more  on  the 
fleeing  rebels ;  and  now  a  rebel  battery  far  to  the  left  works 


A  SHAMEFUL  DAY  9 

fast  upon  the  regiment  in  disorder.  A  fresh  rebel  line  comes 
from  the  woods  and  rushes  for  the  battery  with  the  soimd  of 
many  voices.  Our  men  give  way  .  .  .  they  run  —  the  officers 
are  frantic ;  all  run,  all  run  .  .  .  and  the  cavalry  ride  from 
the  woods,  and  ride  straight  through  our  flying  men  and  strike 
.  .  .  and  many  of  the  fugitives  fire  upon  the  horsemen,  who 
in  turn  flee  for  their  lives. 

******* 

It  is  long  past  noon ;  the  sun  is  a  huge  red  shield ;  the 
world  is  smoke.  Another  regiment  has  gone  in ;  the  roar  of 
battle  grows;  crowds  of  wounded  go  by;  a  battery  gallops 
headlong  to  the  rear  .  .  .  the  men  madly  lash  the  horses. 

"  Bat-tal-ion  —  Attention  !  " 

Our  time  is  upon  us  ;  the  Eleventh  stands  and  forms. 

"  For-ivard  —  March  !  " 

The  dust  is  so  dense  that  I  can  see  nothing  in  the  front, 
.  .  .  but  we  are  moving.  Smith  drops;  Lewis  falls  to  the 
rear ;  the  ranks  are  thinning ;  elbows  touch  no  longer  .  .  . 
our  pace  quickens  ...  a  horrid  impatience  seizes  me  .  .  . 
through  the  smoke  I  see  the  cannons  .  .  .  faster,  faster  ...  I 
see  the  rebel  line  —  a  tempest  breaks  in  my  face  — 

'*  Surrender,  you  damned  Yankee  !  " 


Ill 

I   BREAK    MY    MUSKET 
"  And,  spite  of  spite,  needs  must  I  rest  awhile."  —  Shakespeare. 

I  AM  running  for  life  —  a  mass  of  fugitives  around  me  — 
a  disorderly  mob  •  •  ,.  I  look  behind  —  nothing  but  smoke 
...  I  begin  to  walk. 

The  army  was  lost ;  it  was  no  longer  an  army.  As  soon  as 
the  men  had  run  beyond  gunshot  they  began  to  march  very 
deliberately,  each  one  for  himself,  away  from  the  field.  Com- 
panies, regiments,  and  brigades  were  intermingled.  If  the 
rebels  had  been  in  condition  to  pursue  us,  many  thousands  of 
our  men  would  have  fallen  into  their  hands. 

In  vain  I  tried  to  find  some  group  of  Company  D.  Sud- 
denly I  felt  exhausted  —  sick  from  hunger  and  fatigue  —  and 
was  compelled  to  stop  and  rest.  The  line  of  the  enemy  did 
not  seem  to  advance,  and  firing  in  our  rear  had  ceased. 

A  man  of  our  company  passed  me  —  Edmonds.  I  called  to 
him,  "  Where  is  the  company  ?  " 

"  All  gone,"  said  he  ;  "  and  you'd  better  get  out  of  that,  too, 
as  quick  as  you  can." 

"  Tell  me  who  is  hurt,"  said  I. 

But  he  was  gone,  and  I  felt  that  it  would  not  do  for  me  to 
remain  where  I  was.  I  remembered  Dr.  Khayme's  encour- 
aging words  as  to  my  will,  and  by  great  effort  resolved  to  rise 
and  run. 

At  length,  as  I  was  going  down  the  slope  toward  the  creek, 
I  heard  my  name  called.  I  looked  round,  and  saw  a  man 
waving  his  hand,  and  heard  him  call  me  again.    I  went  toward 

10 


I  BREAK   MY   MUSKET  11 

him.  It  was  Willis;  he  was  limping;  his  hat  was  gone; 
everything  was  gone ;  in  fact,  he  was  hardly  able  to  march. 

"  Where  are  you  hit  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  The  knee,"  he  replied. 

"  Bad  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  serious ;  it  seems  to  me  that  it  don't 
pain  me  as  it  did  awhile  ago." 

"  Can  you  hold  out  till  we  find  an  ambulance  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Well,  that  depends ;  I  guess  all  the  ambulances  are  needed 
for  men  worse  off  than  I  am." 

Just  then  an  officer  rode  along,  endeavouring  to  effect  some 
order,  but  the  men  gave  no  attention  to  him  at  all.  They 
had  taken  it  into  their  heads  to  go.  By  this  time  the  routed 
troops  before  us  were  packed  between  the  high  banks  of  the 
roadway  which  went  down  toward  the  creek.  I  was  desper- 
ately hungry,  having  eaten  nothing  since  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning. 

"  Let's  stay  here  and  eat  something,"  said  I  to  Willis,  "  and 
let  the  crowd  scatter  before  we  go  on." 

"No,  not  yet,"  said  he;  "we  need  water  first.  I  couldn't 
swallow  a  mouthful  without  water.  Whiskey  wouldn't  hurt 
either.     Got  any  water  in  your  canteen  ?  " 

"  Not  a  drop,"  said  I. 

Although  Willis  was  limping  badly,  the  slow  progress  of  the 
troops  at  this  point  allowed  him  to  keep  up.  At  the  bottom 
of  the  hill,  where  the  road  strikes  the  low  ground,  the  troops 
had  greater  space  ;  some  of  them  followed  their  leaders  straight 
ahead  on  the  road ;  others  went  to  the  right  and  left,  seeking 
to  avoid  the  crowd. 

"  Let's  go  up  the  creek,"  said  Willis. 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  To  get  water;  I'm  dying  of  thirst." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  stand  it  awhile  longer  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  at  any  rate,  I'll  keep  a-goin'  as  long  as  God  lets  me,  and 
I  can  stand  it  better  if  I  can  get  water  and  something  to  eat." 


12  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

"  Well,  then,  come  on,  and  I'll  help  you  as  long  as  I  can." 
He  leaned  on  me,  hobbling  along  as  best   he  could,  and 
bravely  too,  although  at  every  step  he  groaned  with  pain. 

I  had  become  somewhat  attached  to  Willis.  He  was  ego- 
tistic—  just  a  little  —  but  harmlessly  so,  and  his  senses  were 
sound  and  his  will  was  good ;  I  had,  too,  abundant  evidence 
of  his  liking  for  me.  He  was  a  strapping  fellow,  more  than 
six  feet  tall  and  as  strong  as  a  bullock.  So,  while  I  fully 
understood  the  danger  in  tying  myself  to  a  wounded  comrade, 
I  could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  desert  him,  especially  since 
he  showed  such  determination  to  save  himself.  Besides,  I 
knew  that  he  was  quick-witted  and  country -bred ;  and  I  had 
great'  hope  that  he  would  prove  more  of  a  help  than  a  hindrance. 

We  followed  a  few  stragglers  who  had  passed  us  and  were 
now  running  up  the  creek  seeking  a  crossing.  The  stream 
was  shallow,  but  the  banks  were  high  and  in  most  places 
steep.  Men  were  crossing  at  almost  all  points.  Slowly  fol- 
lowing the  hurrying  groups  of  twos  and  threes  who  had  out- 
stripped us,  we  found  at  length  a  place  that  seemed  fordable 
for  Willis.  It  was  where  a  small  branch  emptied  into  the 
creek;  and  by  getting  into  the  branch  above  its  mouth  and  fol- 
lowing its  course,  we  should  be  able  to  cross  the  creek. 

'<  Lord !  I  am  thirsty,"  said  Willis ;  "  but  look  how  they 
have  muddied  the  branch;  it's  as  bad  as  the  creek." 

"  That  water  wouldn't  do  us  any  good,"  I  replied. 

"  No,"  said  he  ;  "  it  would  make  us  sick." 

"  But  what  else  can  we  do  ?  " 

"Let's  go  up  the  branch  a  little,"  said  he. 

All  sounds  in  our  rear  had  long  since  died  away.  The  sun 
was  yet  shining,  but  in  the  thick  forest  it  was  cool  and  almost 
dark.  I  hoped  that  water,  food,  and  a  little  rest  would  do 
us  more  good  than  harm  —  that  time  would  be  saved,  in  effect. 

A  hundred  yards  above  the  mouth  of  the  branch  we  found 
the  water  clear.  I  still  had  my  canteen,  my  haversack  with 
a  cup  in  it,   and  food.     Willis  lay  on  the  ground  near  the 


I   BEEAK  MY  MUSKET  13 

stream,  while  I  filled  my  canteen ;  I  handed  it  to  him,  and 
then  knelt  in  the  wet  sand  and  drank. 

The  spot  might  have  been  well  chosen  for  secrecy ;  indeed, 
we  might  have  remained  there  for  days  were  it  not  for  fear. 
A  giant  poplar  had  been  uprooted  by  some  storm  and  had 
crushed  in  its  fall  an  opening  in  the  undergrowth.  The  trunk 
spanned  the  little  brook,  and  the  boughs,  intermingling  with 
the  copse,  made  a  complete  hiding-place. 

I  helped  Willis  to  cross  the  branch ;  then  we  lay  with  the 
log  at  our  backs  and  completely  screened  from  view. 

Willis  drank  another  great  draught  of  water.  I  filled  the 
canteen  again,  and  examined  his  wound.  His  knee  was  stifE 
and  much  swollen;  just  under  the  knee-cap  was  a  mass  of 
clotted  blood;  this  I  washed  away,  using  all  the  gentle  care 
at  my  command,  but  giving  him,  nevertheless,  great  pain. 
A  small  round  hole  was  now  seen,  and  by  gently  pressing  on 
its  walls,  I  thought  I  detected  the  presence  of  the  ball. 

"  Sergeant,"  said  I,  "  it's  in  there ;  I  don't  believe  it's  more 
than  half  an  inch  deep." 

"  Then  pull  it  out,"  said  Willis. 

That  was  more  easily  said  than  done.  Willis  was  lying  flat 
on  his  back,  eating  ravenously.  From  moment  to  moment  I 
stuffed  my  mouth  with  hardtack  and  pork. 

I  sharpened  a  reed  and  introduced  its  point  into  the  wound ; 
an  obstacle  was  met  at  once  —  but  how  to  get  it  out  ?  The 
hole  was  so  small  that  I  conjectured  the  wound  had  been 
made  by  a  buck-shot,  the  rebels  using,  as  we  ourselves,  many 
smooth-bore  muskets,  loaded  with  buck-and-ball  cartridges. 

"  Willis,"  said  I,  "  I  think  I'd  better  not  undertake  this 
job;  suppose  I  get  the  ball  out,  who  knows  that  that  will 
be  better  for  you  ?     Maybe  you'd  lose  too  much  blood." 

"  I  want  it  out,"  said  Willis. 

"But  suppose  I  can't  get  it  out;  we  might  lose  an  hour 
and  do  no  good.  Besides,  I  must  insist  that  I  don't  like  it. 
I  think  my  business  is  to  let  your  leg  alone ;  I'm  no  surgeon." 


14  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"  Take  your  knife,"  said  Willis,  "  and  cut  the  hole  bigger." 

The  wound  was  bleeding  afresh,  but  I  did  not  tell  him  so. 

"  No,"  said  I ;  "  your  leg  is  too  valuable  for  me  to  risk 
anything  of  that  kind." 

"  You  refuse  ?  " 

"  I  positively  refuse,"  said  I. 

We  had  eaten  enough.  The  sun  was  almost  down.  Ear 
away  a  low  rumbling  was  heard,  a  noise  like  the  rolling  of 
cars  or  of  a  wagon  train. 

Willis  reluctantly  consented  to  start.  I  went  to  the  brook 
and  kneaded  some  clay  into  the  consistency  of  plaster;  I 
took  off  my  shirt,  and  tore  it  into  strips.  Against  the  naked 
limb,  stiffened  out,  I  applied  a  handful  of  wet  clay  and 
smoothed  it  over;  then  I  wrapped  the  cloths  around  the 
knee,  at  every  fold  smearing  the  bandage  with  clay.  I  hardly 
knew  why  I  did  this,  unless  with  the  purpose  of  keeping  the 
knee-joint  from  bending;  when  the  clay  should  become  dry 
and  hard  the  joint  would  be  incased  in  a  stiff  setting  which 
I  hoped  would  serve  for  splints.  Willis  approved  the  treat- 
ment, saying  that  clay  was  good  for  sprains,  and  might  be 
good  for  wounds. 

I  helped  the  sergeant  to  his  feet.  He  could  stand,  but 
could  hardly  move. 

"  Take  my  gun,"  said  I,  ''  and  use  it  as  a  crutch." 

He  did  as  I  said,  but  the  barrel  of  the  gun  sank  into  the 
soft  earth ;  after  two  strides  he  said,  "  Here  !  I  can  get  along 
better  without  it."  Meanwhile  I  had  been  sustaining  part  of 
his  weight. 

I  saw  now  that  I  must  abandon  my  gun  —  a  smooth-bore, 
on  the  stock  of  which,  with  a  soldier's  vanity,  I  had  carved 
the  letters  J.  B.  I  broke  the  stock  with  one  blow  of  the 
barrel  against  the  poplar  log. 

I  was  now  free  to  help  Willis.  Slowly  and  painfully  we 
made  our  way  through  the  bottom.  The  cool  water  of  the 
creek  rose  above  our  knees  and  seemed  to  cheer  the  wounded 


I   BREAK  MY   MUSKET 


16 


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A-Where  Berwick  broke  his  musket 

BULL  RUN,  July  21,  1861 

tNaRAVCD  BV 

eORHAY   &  tO.,M.Y. 

16  WHO   GOES  THEKE? 

man.  The  ascent  of  the  further  bank  was  achieved,  but  with 
great  difficulty. 

We  rested  a  little  while.  Here,  in  the  swamp,  night  was 
falling.  We  saw  no  one,  neither  pursuers  nor  pursued.  At 
length,  after  much  and  painful  toil,  we  got  through  the  wood. 
The  last  light  of  day  showed  us  a  small  field  in  front.  Willis 
leaned  against  a  tree,  his  blanched  face  showing  his  agony. 
I  let  down  a  gap  in  the  fence. 

It  was  clearly  to  be  seen  that  the  sergeant  could  do  no  more, 
and  I  decided  to  settle  matters  ^without  consulting  him.  In 
the  field  I  had  seen  some  straw  stacks.  We  succeeded  in 
reaching  them.  At  the  bottom  of  the  smallest,  I  hollowed 
out  a  sort  of  cave.  The  work  took  but  a  minute.  Willis  was 
looking  on  dully ;  he  was  on  the  bare  ground,  utterly  done 
for  with  pain  and  weariness.  At  length  he  asked,  "What's 
that  for  ?  " 

"  For  you,"  I  replied. 

He  said  no  more;  evidently  he  appreciated  the  situation 
and  at  the  same  time  was  too  far  gone  to  protest.  I  made 
him  a  bed  and  pulled  the  overhanging  straw  thinly  around 
him,  so  as  effectually  to  conceal  him  from  any  chance 
passer-by ;  I  took  off  my  canteen  and  haversack  and  placed 
them  within  his  reach.  Then,  with  a  lump  in  my  throat,  I 
bade  him  good-by. 

"  Jones,"  said  he,  "  God  bless  you." 

"  Sergeant,"  I  said,  "  go  to  sleep  if  you  can.  I  shall  try 
to  return  and  get  you;  I  am  going  to  find  help;  if  I  can 
possibly  get  help,  I  will  come  back  for  you  to-night ;  but  if  by 
noon  to-morrow  you  do  not  see  me,  you  must  act  for  the  best. 
It  may  become  necessary  for  you  to  show  yourself  and  sur- 
render, in  order  to  get  your  wound  properly  treated ;  all  this 
country  will  be  ransacked  by  the  rebel  cavalry  before  to- 
morrow night." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that,"  said  Willis  ;  "  I  will  do  the  best  I  can. 
God  bless  you,  Jones." 


I   BREAK  MY  MUSKET  17 

Alone  and  lightened,  I  made  my  way  in  the  darkness  to  the 
road  which  we  had  left  when  we  began  to  seek  the  ford.  I 
struck  the  road  a  mile  or  more  to  the  north  of  Bull  Bun. 
There  was  no  moon;  thick  clouds  gave  warning  of  rain.  I 
knew  that  to  follow  this  road — the  same  circuitous  road  by 
which  we  had  advanced  in  the  morning  —  was  not  to  take  the 
nearest  way  to  Centreville.  I  wanted  to  find  the  Warrenton 
turnpike,  but  all  I  knew  was  that  it  was  somewhere  to  my 
right.  I  determined  to  make  my  way  as  rapidly  as  I  could  in 
that  direction  through  the  fields  and  thickets. 

For  an  hour  or  more  I  had  blundered  on  through  brush  and 
brake,  when  suddenly  I  seemed  to  hear  the  noise  of  a  moving 
wagon.  I  went  cautiously  in  the  direction  of  the  sound, 
which  soon  ceased. 

By  dint  of  straining  my  eyes  I  could  see  an  oblong  form 
outlined  against  the  sky. 

I  went  toward  it ;  I  could  hear  horses  stamping  and  harness 
rattling;  still,  I  could  see  no  one.  The  rear  of  the  wagon, 
if  it  was  a  wagon,  was  toward  me. 

I  reasoned:  "This  cannot  be  a  rebel  ambulance;  there 
would  be  no  need  for  it  here ;  it  must  be  one  of  ours,  or  else 
it  is  a  private  carriage ;  it  certainly  is  not  an  army  wagon." 

I  advanced  a  little  nearer.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  hal- 
loo, and  had  opened  my  lips,  when  a  voice  came  from  the 
ambulance  —  a  voice  which  I  had  heard  before,  and  which 
stupefied  me  with  astonishment. 

"  Is  that  you,  Jones  ?  " 

I  stood  fixed.  I  seemed  to  recognize  the  voice,  but  surely 
my  supposition  must  be  impossible. 

A  man  got  out  of  the  ambulance,  and  approached ;  he  had  a 
pipe  in  his  mouth  ;  he  was  a  small  man,  not  more  than  five 
feet  tall.     I  felt  as  though  in  the  presence  of  a  miracle. 

"  I  have  been  seeking  you,"  he  said. 


IV 

A   PERSONAGE 

"  I  cannot  tell 
What  heaven  hath  given  him  ;  let  some  graver  eye 
Pierce  unto  that."  —  Shakespeare. 

For  a  time  I  was  dumb.  I  knew  not  what  to  say  or  ask  or 
think.  The  happenings  of  this  terrible  day,  which  had  wrought 
the  defeat  of  the  Union  army,  had  been  too  much  for  me.  Van- 
quished, exhausted,  despairing,  heart-sore  from  enforced  deser- 
tion of  my  wounded  friend,  still  far  from  safety  myself,  with 
no  physical  desire  remaining  except  the  wish  to  lie  down  and 
be  at  rest  forever,  and  with  no  moral  feeling  in  my  conscious- 
ness except  that  of  shame,  —  which  will  forever  rise  uppe;r- 
most  in  me  when  I  think  of  that  ignominious  day,  —  to  be 
suddenly  accosted  by  the  man  whom  I  held  in  the  most  pecul- 
iar veneration  and  who,  I  had  believed,  was  never  again  to 
enter  into  my  life  —  accosted  by  him  on  the  verge  of  the  lost 
battlefield —  in  the  midst  of  darkness  and  the  debris  of  the  rout, 
while  groping,  as  it  were,  on  my  lone  way  to  security  scarcely 
hoped  for  —  it  was  too  much ;  I  sank  down  on  the  road. 

How  long  I  lay  there  I  have  never  known  —  probably  but 
few  moments. 

The  Doctor  took  my  hand  in  his.  "  Be  consoled,  my  friend," 
said  he ;  "  you  are  in  safety ;  this  is  my  ambulance ;  we  will 
take  you  with  us." 

Then  he  called  to  some  one  in  the  ambulance,  "  Reed,  bring 
me  the  flask  of  brandy." 

When  I  had  revived,  the  Doctor  urged  me  to  climb  in  before 
him. 

18 


A  PEESONAGE  19 

'^  No,"  I  cried,  "  I  cannot  do  it ;  I  cannot  leave  Willis ;  we 
must  get  Willis." 

"I  heard  that  Willis  was  shot,"  said  he;  ''but  I  had  sup- 
posed, from  the  direction  you  two  were  taking  when  last  seen, 
that  he  had  reached  the  field  hospital.    Where  is  Willis  now  ?  " 

I  told  him  as  accurately  as  I  could,  and  in  half  an  hour  we 
were  in  the  stubble-field.  Eor  fear  the  sergeant  should  be 
unnecessarily  alarmed  on  hearing  persons  approach,  I  called 
him  softly  by  name ;  then,  hearing  no  answering  call,  I  raised 
my  voice  —  "Willis  !  It  is  Jones,  with  help  !  "  But  there  was 
no  response. 

We  found  the  sergeant  fast  asleep.  It  was  more  difficult  to 
get  him  awake  than  to  get  him  into  the  ambulance.  Reed  and 
I  picked  him  up  bodily  and  laid  him  down  on  a  mattress  in 
the  bottom  of  the  vehicle. 

And  now,  with  my  load  of  personal  duty  gone,  I  also  sank 
back  and  slumbered  through  a  troubled  night,  and  when  I 
fully  awoke  it  was  six  in  the  morning  and  we  were  crossing 
Long  Bridge  in  the  midst  of  a  driving  rain.  There  were  two 
seats  in  the  ambulance,  besides  a  double-deck,  that  is  to  say, 
two  floors  for  wounded  to  lie  upon.  I  scrambled  to  the  rear 
seat. 

We  were  making  but  slow  progress.  The  bridge  ahead 
of  us  was  crowded.  There  were  frequent  stoppages.  Many 
civilians,  on  horseback  or  in  carriages,  were  before  and  behind 
us.  Soldiers  single  and  in  groups  swelled  the  procession,  some 
of  them  with  their  arms  in  slings ;  how  they  had  achieved  the 
long  night  march  I  cannot  yet  comprehend. 

Willis  was  yet  lying  on  the  mattress ;  his  eyes  were  not 
open,  but  he  was  awake,  I  thought,  for  his  motions  were  rest- 
less. 

Reed  appeared  to  be  exhausted ;  he  said  nothing  and  nodded 
sleepily,  although  holding  the  lines.  The  Doctor,  on  the  con- 
trary, looked  fresh  and  vigorous ;  indeed,  as  I  closely  studied 
his  face,  I  could  almost  have  believed  that  he  had  become 


20  WHO  GOES  THEEE  ? 

younger  than  he  had  been  when  I  parted  with  him  in  Charles- 
ton, more  than  three  years  before.  He  knew  that  I  was 
observing  him,  for  he  said,  without  turning  his  face  toward 
me,  "  You  have  not  slept  well,  Jones ;  but  you  did  not  know 
when  we  stopped  at  Fairfax ;  we  rested  the  horses  there  for  an 
hour." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  feel  stupid,  and  my  spirits  are  wofully 
down." 

"  Why  so  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  the  bitter  disappointment ! "  I  cried ;  "  what  will  be- 
come of  the  country  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  country  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 

I  did  not  reply  at  once. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  he  repeated,  "  the  material  soil  ?  Do  you 
mean  the  people  of  the  United  States,  including  those  of 
the  seceded  States  ?  Do  you  mean  the  idea  symbolized  by 
everything  that  constitutes  American  civilization  ?  However, 
let  us  not  speak  of  these  difficult  matters  now.  We  must  get 
your  friend  Willis  to  the  hospital  and  then  arrange  for  your 
comfort." 

"  I  thank  you,  Doctor ;  but  first  be  so  good  as  to  relieve  my 
devouring  curiosity :  tell  me  by  what  marvellous  chance  you 
were  on  the  battlefield." 

"  No  chance  at  all,  Jones ;  you  know  that  I  have  always 
told  you  there  is  no  such  thing  as  chance.  I  went  to  the  field 
deliberately,  as  an  agent  of  the  United  States  Sanitary  Com- 
mission." 

"  I  thought  that  you  were  far  from  this  country,  and  that 
you  felt  no  interest  in  us,"  said  I.  "  My  father  and  I  were 
in  Charleston  in  '  fifty -eight,'  and  were  told  that  you  were  in 
Europe.  And  then,  too,  how  could  you  know  that  I  was  on 
such  a  part  of  the  battlefield,  and  that  Willis  was  hurt  and 
that  I  was  with  him  ?  " 

"  All  that  is  very  simple,"  said  he ;  "  as  to  being  in  Europe, 
and  afterward  getting  to  America,  that  is  not  more  strange 


A  PERSONAGE  21 

than  being  in  America  and  afterward  getting  to  Europe ; 
however,  let  us  defer  all  talk  of  Europe  and  America.  As  to 
knowing  that  you  were  with  Sergeant  Willis,  and  that  he  was 
wounded,  that  is  simple ;  some  men  of  your  regiment  gave  me 
that  information." 

I  did  not  reply  to  the  Doctor,  but  sat  looking  at  the  miscel- 
laneous file  of  persons,  carriages,  ambulances,  and  all  else  that 
was  now  blocked  on  the  bridge. 

At  length  I  said :  "  I  cannot  understand  how  you  could  so 
easily  find  the  place  where  I  left  Sergeant  Willis.  It  was 
more  than  a  mile  from  the  spot  where  I  met  you  ;  the  night 
was  dark,  and  I  am  certain  that  I  could  not  have  found  the 
place." 

"  Of  course  you  could  not,"  he  replied ;  "  but  it  was  com- 
paratively easy  for  me ;  I  had  passed  and  repassed  the  place, 
for  I  worked  all  day  to  help  the  disabled  —  and  Reed  was 
employed  for  the  reason  that  he  knows  every  nook  and  corner 
of  that  part  of  the  country." 

After  crossing  the  bridge,  Reed  drove  quickly  to  the  Colum- 
bia College  Hospital,  where  we  left  Sergeant  Willis,  but  not 
before  learning  that  his  wound  was  not  difficult. 

"Now,"  said  the  Doctor,  ''you  are  my  guest  for  a  few  days. 
I  will  see  to  it  that  you  are  excused  from  duty  for  a  week.  It 
may  take  that  time  to  set  you  right,  especially  as  I  can  see 
that  you  have  some  traces  of  nervous  fever.  I  am  going  to 
take  steps  to  prevent  your  becoming  ill." 

"  How  can  you  explain  my  absence.  Doctor  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  in  the  first  place  there  is  as  yet  nobody 
authorized  to  receive  an  explanation.  To-day  our  time  is  our 
own ;  by  to-morrow  all  the  routed  troops  will  be  in  or  near  Wash- 
ington; then  I  shall  simply  write  a  note,  if  you  insist  upon  it, 
to  the  commanding  officer  of  your  company,  explaining  Willis's 
absence  and  your  connection  with  his  case,  and  take  on  myself 
the  responsibility  for  your  return  to  your  command." 

"Has    the    Sanitary    Commission    such    credit    that    your 


22  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

note  will  be  accepted  as  a  guaranty,  in  good  form,  for  my 
return  ? " 

"The  circumstances  in  this  case  are  peculiar,"  said  the 
Doctor  ;  "  some  of  your  men  will  not  report  to  their  commands 
for  a  week.  You  will  be  ready  for  your  company  before  your 
company  is  ready  for  you." 

"That  is  true  enough,  Doctor;  but  I  should  wish  to  observe 
all  military  requirement." 

He  left  me  for  a  while  and  returned  with  a  piece  of  paper 
in  his  hand. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  this  ?  " 

It  was  a  surgeon's  commitment  of  Private  Jones  Berwick, 
company  and  regiment  given,  into  the  hands  of  the  Sanitary 
Commission  for  ten  days.  I  could  say  no  more,  except  to 
speak  my  gratitude  for  his  kindness. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Dr.  Khayme,  "  to  be  unable  to  offer 
you  the  best  of  quarters.  The  Commission  has  so  recently 
been  organized  that  we  have  not  yet  succeeded  in  getting 
thorough  order  into  our  affairs  ;  in  fact,  my  work  yesterday 
was  rather  the  work  of  a  volunteer  than  the  work  of  the  Com- 
mission. Our  tents  are  now  beyond  Georgetown  Heights ;  in 
a  few  days  we  shall  move  our  camps,  and  shall  increase  our 
comfort." 

The  ambulance  was  driven  through  some  of  the  principal 
streets.  The  sidewalks  and  carriagev/ays  were  crowded ;  civil- 
ians and  soldiers ;  wagons,  guns,  caissons,  ambulances ;  com- 
panies, spick-and-span,  which  had  not  yet  seen  service ;  ones, 
twos,  threes,  squads  of  men  who  had  escaped  from  the  dis- 
aster of  the  21st,  unarmed,  many  of  them,  without  knapsacks, 
haggard. 

At  the  corners  of  the  streets  were  riide  improvised  tables 
behind  which  stood  men  and  women  serving  food  and  drink 
to  the  famished  fugitives.  The  rain  fell  steadilj^,  a  thick 
drizzle.  Civilians  looked  their  anxiety.  A  general  officer  rode 
by,  surrounded  by  the  remnant  of  his  staif,  heads  bent  down, 


A   PERSONAGE  23 

gloomy.  Women  wept  while  serving  the  hungry.  The  un- 
finished dome  of  the  Capitol,  hardly  seen  through  the  rain, 
loomed  ominous.  Depression  over  all :  ambulances  full  of 
wounded  men,  tossing  and  groaning;  fagged-out  horses, 
vehicles  splashed  with  mud ;  policemen  dazed,  idle ;  news- 
boys crying  their  merchandise ;  readers  eagerly  reading — not 
to  know  the  result  to  the  army,  but  the  fate  of  some  loved 
one ;  stores  closed ;  whispers  ;  doom. 

I  turned  to  Dr.  Khayme ;  he  smiled.  Then  he  made 
Reed  halt;  he  got  out  of  the  ambulance  and  went  to  one  of 
the  tables.  A  woman  gave  him  coffee,  which  he  brought  to 
me,  and  made  me  drink.  He  returned  to  the  table  and  gave 
back  the  cup.  The  woman  looked  toward  the  ambulance. 
She  was  a  tall  young  woman,  serious,  dignified.  She  im- 
pressed me. 

We  drove  past  Georgetown  Heights.  There,  amongst  the 
trees,  were  four  wall-tents  in  a  row;  one  of  them  was  of 
double  length.  The  ambulance  stopped ;  we  got  out.  The  Doc- 
tor led  the  way  into  one  of  the  tents ;  he  pointed  to  one  of  two 
camp-beds.  "  That  is  yours,"  said  he ;  "  go  to  sleep ;  you  shall 
not  be  distui'bed." 

"  I  don't  think  I  can  sleep,  Doctor." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  My  mind  will  not  let  me." 

"  Well,  try,"  said  he ;  "I  will  peep  in  shortly  and  see  how 
you  are  getting  on." 

I  undressed,  and  bathed  my  face.  Then  I  lay  down  on  the 
bed,  pulling  a  sheet  over  me.     I  turned  my  face  to  the  wall. 

I  shut  my  eyes,  but  not  my  vision.  I  saw  Ricketts's  bat- 
tery —  the  First  Michigan  charge  ;  —  the  Black-Horse  cavalry 
ride  from  the  woods.  I  saw  the  rebel  cannons  through  dust 
and  smoke  ;  —  a  poplar  log  in  a  thicket ;  —  a  purple  wound  — 
wet  clay ;  —  a  broken  rifle  ;  — stacks  of  straw. 

Oh,  the  gloom  and  the  shame !  What  does  the  future  hold 
for  me  ?  for  the  cause  ?     What  is  to  defend  Washington  ? 


24  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

Then  I  thought  of  my  father ;  I  had  not  written  to  him ; 
he  would  be  anxious.  My  eyes  opened ;  I  turned  to  rise ; 
Dr.   Khayme  entered ;  I  rose. 

"  You  do  not  sleep  readily  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  cannot  sleep  at  all,"  I  said ;  "  besides  I  have  been  so 
overwhelmed  by  this  great  calamity  that  I  had  not  thought 
of  telegraphing  to  my  father.  Can  you  get  a  messenger 
here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  boy,  I  have  already  provided  for  your  father's 
knowing  that  you  are  safe." 

"  You  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly.  He  knows  already  that  you  are  unhurt ; 
go  to  sleep ;  by  the  time  you  awake  I  promise  you  a  telegram 
from  your  father." 

"Doctor,  you  are  an  angel;  but  I  don't  believe  that  I  can 
sleep." 

"  Let  me  feel  your  pulse." 

Dr.  Khayme  placed  his  fingers  on  my  wrist ;  I  was  sitting 
on  the  side  of  the  bed. 

"  Lie  down,"  said  he.  Then,  still  with  his  fingers  on  my 
pulse,  he  said  softly,  "  Poor  boy !  you  have  endured  too  much ; 
no  wonder  that  you  are  wrought  up." 

He  laid  his  other  hand  on  my  head;  his  fingers  strayed 
through  my  hair. 


WITH    THE    DOCTOR    IN    CAMP 

"  Great  lords,  wise  men  ne'er  sit  and  wail  their  loss, 
But  cheerly  seek  how  to  redress  their  harms." 

—  Shakespeare. 

When  I  awoke  in  Dr.  Khayme's  tent  toward  four  o'clock 
of  the  afternoon  of  July  22,  I  felt  that  my  mind  was  clear ; 
I  had  slept  dreamlessly. 

On  the  cover  of  my  bed  an  envelope  was  lying  —  a  telegram. 
I  hastily  tore  it  open  and  read :  "  Dr.  Khayme  tells  me  you 
are  safe.     Continue  to  do  your  duty."     My  heart  swelled. 

I  rose,  and  dressed,  and  went  out.  The  Doctor  was  stand- 
ing under  a  tree,  near  a  fire  ;  a  negro  was  cooking  at  the  fire. 
Under  an  awning,  or  fly,  beneath  which  a  small  eating 
table  was  dressed,  a  woman  was  sitting  in  a  chair,  reading. 
I  thought  I  had  seen  her  before,  and  looking  more  closely  I 
recognized  the  woman  who  had  given  the  Doctor  a  cup  of 
coffee  on  Pennsylvania  Avenue. 

The  Doctor  stepped  forward  to  meet  me,  "Ah,  I  see  you 
have  rested  well,"  said  he  ;  then,  "  Lydia,  here  is  Mr.  Berwick." 

I  was  becoming  accustomed  to  surprises  from  the  Doctor, 
so  that  I  was  not  greatly  astonished,  although  I  had  received 
no  intimation  of  the  young  lady's  identity.  The  feeling  that 
was  uppermost  was  shame  that  I  had  not  even  once  thought 
of  asking  the  Doctor  about  her. 

"  I  should  never  have  recognized  you,"  I  said.  She  replied 
with  a  smile,  and  the  Doctor  relieved  the  situation  by  cheer- 
fully crying  out  "  Dinner !  "  and  leading  the  way  to  the  table. 

28 


26  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"  Now,  Jones,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  you  are  expected  to  eat ; 
you  have  had  nothing  since  yesterday  afternoon,  when  you 
choked  yourself  while  bandaging  —  '• 

"  What  do  you  know  about  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

'■'■  You  talked  about  it  in  your  sleep  last  night  on  the  road. 
As  for  Lydia  and  me,  we  have  had  our  breakfast  and  our  lun- 
cheon, and  you  must  nut  expect  us  to  eat  like  a  starving  fan- 
tassin.  Fail  to,  my  boy.  I  know  that  you  have  eaten  nothing 
to-day." 

There  were  fruit,  bread  and  butter,  lett'-^'e,  rice,  and  coffee. 
I  did  not  wonder  at  the  absence  of  meat ;  I  remembered  some 
of  the  talks  of  my  friend.  The  Doctor  and  his  daughter 
seemed  to  eat  merely  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  me  in  coun- 
tenance. 

"  Lydia,  would  you  have  known  Mr.  Berwick  ?  " 

"Why,  of  course,  Father;  I  should  have  known  him  any- 
where ;  it  is  not  four  years  since  we  saw  him." 

These  four  years  had  made  a  great  change  in  Miss  Khayme. 
I  had  left  her  a  girl  in  the  awkward  period  of  a  girl's  life ; 
now  she  was  a  woman  of  fine  presence,  wholesome,  good  to 
look  at.  She  did  not  resemble  her  father,  except  perhaps  in  a 
certain  intellectual  cast  of  feature.  Her  dark  wavy  tresses 
were  in  contrast  with  his  straight  black  hair ;  her  eyes  were 
not  his ;  her  stature  was  greater  than  his.  Yet  there  were 
points  of  resemblance.  Her  manner  was  certainly  very  like 
the  Doctor's,  and  many  times  a  fleeting  expression  was  identi- 
cal with  the  Doctor's  habitually  perfect  repose. 

She  must  have  been  clad  very  simply  ;  at  any  rate,  I  cannot 
remember  anything  of  her  dress.  I  only  know  that  it  was 
unpretentious  and  charming. 

Her  eyes  were  of  that  shade  of  gray  which  is  supposed  to 
indicate  great  intelligence ;  her  complexion  was  between  dark 
and  fair,  and  betokened  health.  Her  face  was  oval ;  her 
mouth  a  little  large  perhaps.  She  had  an  air  of  seriousness 
—  her   only  striking   peculiarity.       One  might  have  charged 


WITH  THE  DOCTOE  IN   CAMP  27 

her  with  masculinity,  but  in  tins  respect  only :  she  was  far 
above  the  average  woman,  in  dignity  of  manner  and  in  con- 
sciousness of  attainment.  She  could  talk  seriously  of  men 
and  things. 

I  was  wishing  to  say  something  pleasant  to  Miss  Lydia,  but 
could  only  manage  to  tell  her  that  she  had  changed  wonder- 
fully and  that  she  had  a  great  advantage  over  me  in  that  I 
was  the  same  ungainly  boy  she  had  known  in  Charleston. 

She  did  not  reply  to  this,  covering  her  silence  by  making 
me  my  third  cup  of  coffee. 

"Lydia,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  you  must  tell  Mr.  Berwick  some- 
thing about  our  life  in  the  East.  You  know  how  I  dislike  to 
speak  three  sentences." 

"  With  great  pleasure,  Father ;  Mr.  Berwick  will  find  that 
I  can  speak  four." 

"Not  now,  my  dear.  I  warn  you,  Jones,  that  I  shall  watch 
over  you  very  carefully  while  you  are  with  us.  I  am  respon- 
sible to  the  hospital  surgeon  for  your  health,  and  I  cannot  be 
a  party  to  your  extinction." 

"  How  many  sentences  did  you  speak  then,  Father  ?  " 

"  It  depends  on  how  you  punctuate,"  he  replied. 

"  Mr,  Berwick,"  said  Lydia,  "  Father  pretends  that  he  is  not 
talkative,  but  don't  you  believe  him.  He  can  easily  talk  you 
to  sleep." 

The  Doctor  was  almost  gay,  that  is,  for  the  Doctor.  His 
eyes  shone.  He  did  not  cease  to  look  at  me,  except  when 
he  looked  at  Lydia.  For  the  time,  Lydia  had  a  severer  coun- 
tenance than  her  father's.  I  ate.  I  thanked  my  stars  for  the 
conversation  that  was  covering  my  ignoble  performance. 

"Doctor,"  I  asked,  pausing  for  breath,  "is  there  any  news 
of  Willis  ?  " 

"Willis  is  doing  well  enough.  The  ball  has  been  extracted} 
it  was  only  a  buck-shot,  as  you  rightly  surmised. " 

"  How  do  you  know  what  I  surmised.  Doctor  ?  " 

"Willis  told  the  surgeon  of  your  supposition,  giving   you 


28  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

full  credit  for  the  origin  of  it.  By  the  way,  that  was  a 
famous  bandage  you  gave  him." 

*'  Was  it  the  correct  practice  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  can  hardly  go  as  far  as  to  say  it  was  scientific,  but 
under  the  circumstances  we  must  pardon  you." 

"  How  long  will  the  sergeant  be  down  ?  " 

"  From  three  to  six  weeks,  I  think,  according  to  the  weather 
and  his  state  of  mind." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  his  mind  ?  " 

"  Impatience,"  said  the  Doctor ;  "  the  evil  of  the  whole  West- 
ern world." 

I  had  finished  eating.  The  Doctor  got  his  pipe :  the  idol's 
head  was  the  same  old  idol's  head.  Lydia  disappeared  into 
one  of  the  tents. 

"  Jones,"  said  Dr.  Khayme,  "  I  have  been  thinking  that 
yesterday  will  prove  to  be  the  crisis  of  the  war." 

"You  alarm  me  more  than  ever;  do  you  mean  to  say  that 
the  South  will  win  ?  " 

"  My  words  do  not  imply  that  belief ;  but  what  does  it  mat- 
ter which  side  shall  win  ?  " 

"  Doctor,  you  are  a  strange  man ! " 

"  I  have  been  told  so  very  frequently ;  but  that  is  not  to  the 
point.  I  ask  what  difference  it  would  make  whether  the  North 
or  South  should  succeed." 

"  Then  why  go  to  war  ?  Why  not  let  the  South  secede 
peaceably  ?     What  are  we  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  Jones,  you  may  well  ask  such  questions.  War  is 
always  wrong ;  going  to  war  is  necessarily  a  phase  of  a  short- 
sighted policy ;  every  wrong  act  is,  of  course,  an  unwdse  act." 

"  Even  when  war  is  forced  upon  us  ?  " 

"  War  cannot  be  forced  upon  you ;  it  takes  two  nations  to 
make  war;  if  one  refuses,  the  other  cannot  make  war." 

"  I  have  known  for  a  long  time.  Doctor,  that  you  are  opposed 
to  war  on  the  whole ;  but  what  was  left  for  the  North  to  do  ? 
Acknowledge    the   right   of    secession  ?      Submit   to   insult  ? 


WITH  THE  DOCTOR  IN   CAMP  29 

Submit  to  the  loss  of  all  Federal  property  in  the  Southern 
States  ?  Tamely  endure  without  resentment  the  attack  on 
Sumter  ?  " 

"  Yes,  endure  everything  rather  than  commit  a  worse  crime 
than  that  you  resist." 

Here  Lydia  reappeared,  charming  in  a  simple  white  dress 
without  ornament.  "Good-by,  Father,"  she  said;  "Mr.  Ber- 
wick, I  must  bid  you  good  night." 

"  Yes,  you  are  on  duty  to-night,"  said  her  father.  "  Jones, 
you  must  know  that  Lydia  is  a  volunteer  also ;  she  attaches 
herself  to  the  Commission,  and  insists  on  serving  the  sick  and 
wounded.  She  is  on  duty  to-night  at  the  College  Hospital.  I 
think  she  will  have  her  hands  full." 

"  Why,  you  will  see  Willis ;  will  you  be  in  his  ward  ?  "  I 
asked,  looking  my  admiration. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  am  in  his  ward,"  she  replied,  "  but  I 
can  easily  see  him  if  you  wish." 

"  Then  please  be  so  good  as  to  tell  him  that  I  shall  come  to 
see  him  — ■  to-morrow,  if  possible." 

Lydia  started  off  down  the  hill. 

"  She  will  find  a  buggy  at  our  stable-camp,"  said  Dr. 
Khayme;  "it  is  but  a  short  distance  down  there." 

The  Doctor  smoked.  I  thought  of  many  things.  His  view 
of  war  was  not  new,  by  any  means ;  of  course,  in  the  abstract 
he  was  right:  war  is  wrong,  and  that  which  is  wrong  is 
unwise;  but  how  to  prevent  war?  A  nation  that  will  not 
preserve  itself,  how  can  it  exist  ?  I  could  not  doubt  that 
secession  is  destruction.  If  the  Union  should  now  or  ever  see 
itself  broken  up,  then  farewell  to  American  liberties ;  farewell 
to  the  hopes  of  peoples  against  despotism.  To  refuse  war,  to 
tamely  allow  the  South  to  withdraw  and  set  up  a  government 
of  her  own,  would  be  but  the  beginning  of  the  end ;  at  the 
first  grievance  California,  Massachusetts,  any  State,  could  and 
would  become  independent.  No ;  war  must  come ;  the  Union 
must  be  preserved ;  the  nation  was  at  the  forks  of  the  road ; 


30  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

for  my  part,  I  could  not  hesitate ;  we  must  take  one  road  or 
the  other;  war  was  forced  upon  us.  But  why  reason  thus,  as 
though  we  still  had  choice  ?  War  already  exists ;  we  must 
make  the  best  of  it ;  we  are  down  to-day,  but  Bull  Run  is  not 
the  whole  of  the  war ;  one  field  is  lost,  but  all  is  not  lost. 

"Doctor,"  I  asked,  "why  do  you  say  that  yesterday  will 
prove  to  be  the  crisis  of  the  war  ? " 

"  Because,"  he  answered,  "yesterday's  lesson  was  well  taught 
and  will  be  well  learned ;  it  was  a  rude  lesson,  but  it  will  prove 
a  wholesome  one.  Your  government  now  knows  the  enormous 
work  it  has  to  do.  We  shall  now  see  preparation  commen- 
surate with  the  greatness  of  the  work.  Three  months'  volun- 
teers are  already  a  thing  of  the  past.  This  war  might  have 
been  avoided ;  all  war  might  be  avoided ;  but  this  war  has  not 
been  avoided;  America  will  be  at  war  for  years  to  come." 

I  was  silent. 

"  We  shall  have  a  new  general,  Jones ;  General  McClellan 
is  ordered  to  report  immediately  in  person  to  the  war  depart- 
ment." 

"  Why  a  new  general  ?  McClellan  is  well  enough,  I  suppose ; 
but  what  has  McDowell  done  to  deserve  this  ?  " 

"  He  has  failed.  Failure  in  war  is  unpardonable ;  every 
general  that  fails  finds  it  so;  McClellan  may  find  it  so." 

"  You  are  not  much  of  a  comforter,  Doctor." 

"  The  North  does  not  need  false  comforters ;  she  needs  to 
look  things  squarely  in  the  face.  Mind  you,  I  did  not  say 
that  McClellan  will  fail.  I  think,  however,  that  there  will  be 
many  failures,  and  much  injustice  done  to  those  who  fail. 
In  war  injustice  is  easily  tolerated  —  any  injustice  that  will 
bring  success;  success  is  demanded  —  not  justice.  Whole- 
sale murder  was  committed  yesterday  and  brought  failure ; 
wholesale  murder  that  brings  success  is  what  is  demanded  by 
this  superstitious  people." 

"  Why  do  you  say  superstitious  ?  " 

"  A  nation  at  war  believes  in  luck ;  if  it  has  not  good  luck, 


WITH   THE   DOCTOR  IN   CAMP  31 

it  changes ;  it  is  like  the  gambler  who  bets  high  when  he 
thinks  he  has  what  he  calls  a  run  in  his  favor.  If  the  cards 
go  against  him,  he  changes  his  policy,  and  very  frequently 
changes  just  as  the  cards  change  to  suit  his  former  play. 
You  are  now  changing  to  McClellan,  simply  because  McDowell 
has  had  bad  luck  and  McClellan  good  luck.  I  do  not  know 
that  McClellan's  good  luck  will  continue.  War  and  cards  are 
alike,  and  they  are  unlike." 

"  How  alike  and  unlike  ?  " 

"  Games  of  chance,  so  called,  lose  everything  like  chance 
in  the  long  run ;  they  equalize  '  chances '  and  nobody  wins. 
War  also  destroys  chance,  and  nobody  wins ;  both  sides  lose, 
only  one  side  loses  less  than  the  other.  In  games,  the  result 
of  one  play  cannot  be  foretold ;  in  war,  the  result  of  one  battle 
cannot  be  foretold.  In  games  and  in  war  the  general  result 
can  be  foretold ;  in  the  one  there  will  be  a  balance  and  in  the 
other  there  will  be  destruction.  Even  the  winner  in  war  is 
ruined  morally,  just  as  is  the  gambler." 

"  And  can  you  foretell  the  result  of  this  war  ?  " 

"  Conditionally." 

"  How  conditionally  ?  " 

"  If  the  North  is  in  earnest,  or  becomes  in  earnest,  and  her 
people  become  determined,  there  is  no  mystery  in  a  prediction 
of  her  nominal  success ;  still,  she  will  suffer  for  her  crime. 
She  must  suffer  largely,  just  as  she  is  suffering  to-day  in  a 
small  way  for  the  crime  of  yesterday." 

"  It  is  terrible  to  think  of  yesterday's  useless  sacrifice." 

"Not  useless,  Jones,  regarded  in  its  relation  to  this  war, 
but  certainly  useless  in  relation  to  civilization.  Bull  Run  will 
prove  salutary  for  your  cause,  or  I  wofully  mistake.  Nations 
that  go  to  war  must  learn  from  misfortune." 

"  But,  then,  does  not  the  misfortune  of  yesterday  justify 
a  change  in  generals  ?  " 

"  Not  unless  the  misfortime  was  caused  by  your  bad  general- 
ship, and  that  is  not  shown  —  at  least,  so  far  as  McDowell  is 


32  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

concerned.  The  advance  should  not  have  been  made,  but  he 
was  ordered  to  make  it.  We  now  know  that  Beauregard's 
army  was  reenf orced  by  Johnston's ;  it  was  impossible  not  to 
see  that  it  could  be  so  reenforced,  as  the  Confederates  had  the 
interior  line.  The  real  fault  in  the  campaign  is  not  McDow- 
ell's. His  plan  was  scientific ;  his  battle  was  better  planned 
than  was  his  antagonist's ;  he  outgeneralled  Beauregard 
clearly,  and  failed  only  because  of  a  fact  that  is  going  to  be 
impressed  frequently  upon  the  Northern  mind  in  this  war; 
that  fact  is  that  the  Southern  troops  do  not  know  when  they 
are  beaten.  McDowell  defeated  Beauregard,  so  far  as  those 
two  are  concerned ;  but  his  army  failed,  and  he  must  be  sacri- 
ficed ;  the  North  ought,  however,  to  sacrifice  the  army." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that.  Doctor  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  war  is  wrong ;  it  is  always  so.  It  is  essen- 
tially unjust  and  narrow.  You  have  given  up  your  power  to 
be  just;  you  cannot  do  what  you  know  to  be  just.  You  act 
under  compulsion,  having  yielded  your  freedom.  A  losing 
general  is  sacrificed,  regardless  of  his  real  merit." 

"  Was  it  so  in  Washington's  case  ?  " 

"Washington's  first  efforts  were  successful;  had  he  been 
defeated  at  Boston,  he  would  have  been  superseded  —  unless, 
indeed,  the  colonies  had  given  up  the  struggle." 

"  And  independence  would  have  been  lost  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  do  not  say  that.  The  world  had  need  of  American 
independence." 

Eor  half  an  hour  we  sat  thus  talking,  the  Doctor  doing  the 
most  of  it,  and  giving  full  rein  to  his  philosophically  imper- 
sonal views  of  the  immediate  questions  involved  in  the  national 
struggle.  He  rose  at  last,  and  left  me  thinking  of  his  strange 
personality  and  wondering  why,  holding  such  views,  he  should 
throw  his  energies  into  either  side. 

He  returned  presently,  bringing  me  a  letter  from  my  father. 
He  waited  as  I  opened  it,  and  when  I  asked  leave  to  read  it, 
he  said  for  answer,  as  if  still  thinking  of  our  conversation :  — 


WITH  THE   DOCTOR  IN   CAMP  33 

"Jones,  my  boy,  there  is  a  future  for  you.  I  can  imagine 
circumstances  in  which  your  peculiar  powers  of  memory 
would  accomplish  more  genuine  good  than  could  a  thousand 
bayonets;  good  night." 

Before  I  went  to  bed  I  had  written  my  father  a  long  letter. 
Then  I  lay  down,  oppressed  with  thought. 


VI 


THE    USES    OF    INFIRMITY 

"  There  shall  never  be  one  lost  good  !     "What  was,  shall  live  as  before  ; 
The  evil  is  null,  is  naught,  is  silence  implying  sound  ; 
"What  was  good,  shall  be  good,  with,  for  evil,  so  much  good  more  ; 
On  the  earth  the  broken  arcs  ;  in  the  heaven,  a  perfect  round." 

—  Browning. 

The  next  morning  Lydia  was  missing  from  the  breakfast 
table.  The  Doctor  said  that  she  had  gone  to  her  room  — 
which  was  at  a  friend's  house  in  Georgetown  —  to  rest.  She 
had  brought  from  Willis  a  request  that  I  should  come  to  see 
him. 

"  You  are  getting  back  to  your  normal  condition,"  said  the 
Doctor,  "  and  if  you  do  not  object  I  shall  drive  you  down." 

On  the  way,  the  Doctor  told  me  that  alarm  as  to  the  safety 
of  the  capital  had  subsided.  The  army  was  reorganizing 
on  the  Virginia  hills  and  was  intrenching  rapidly.  Eeenforce- 
ments  were  being  hurried  to  Washington,  and  a  new  call  for 
volunteers  would  at  once  be  made.  General  McClellan  would 
arrive  in  a  few  days ;  much  was  expected  of  his  ability  to 
create  and  discipline  an  army. 

"  You  need  be  in  no  hurry  to  report  to  your  company,"  said 
Dr.  Khayme ;  "  it  is  true  that  you  are  almost  fit  for  duty, 
but  you  have  practically  a  leave  of  absence  for  a  week  or 
more,  and  I  am  sure  that  rest  will  do  you  good.  By  the  way, 
President  Lincoln  will  visit  the  troops  at  Arlington  to-day; 
if  you  like,  I  shall  be  glad  to  take  you  over." 

I  declined,  saying  that  I  must  see  Willis,  and  expressing 
ray  desire  to  return  to  my  post  of  duty  as  soon  as  possible. 

34 


THE   USES  OF  INFIRMITY  36 

We  found  Willis  cheerful.  The  Doctor  asked  him  a  few 
questions  and  then  passed  into  the  office. 

Willis  pressed  my  hand.  "  Old  man/'  said  he,  "  but  for  you 
I  should  be  a  prisoner.  Count  on  Jake  Willis  whenever  you 
need  a  friend,  or  when  it  is  in  his  power  to  do  you  a  service." 

"  Sergeant,"  said  I,  ''  I  shall  go  back  to  duty  in  a  day  or 
two.     What  shall  I  say  to  the  boys  for  you  ?  " 

"Tell  'em  old  Jake  is  a-comin'  too.  My  leg  feels  better 
already.  The  surgeon  promises  to  put  me  on  my  feet  in  a 
month,  or  six  weeks  at  the  outside.  Have  you  learned  how 
our  company  came  out  ?  " 

"The  papers  say  there  were  four  killed,"  I  said;  "but  I 
have  not  seen  their  names,  and  I  hope  they  are  only  missing. 
There  were  a  good  many  wounded.  The  regiment's  head- 
quarters are  over  the  river,  and  I  have  not  seen  a  man  of  the 
company  except  you.     I  am  very  anxious." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  the  sergeant ;  "  your  friend  Dr.  Khayme 
told  me  it  will  be  some  days  before  we  learn  the  whole 
truth.  He  is  a  queer  man,  Jones  ;  I  believe  he  knows  what 
I  think.  Was  that  his  daughter  who  came  in  here  last 
night  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered ;  "  she  left  me  your  message  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  Say,  Jones,  you  remember  that  poplar  log  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  can  ever  forget  it,"  I  replied.  The  next 
moment  I  thought  of  my  bygone  mental  peculiarity,  and 
wondered  if  I  should  ever  again  be  subjected  to  loss  of  mem- 
ory. I  decided  to  speak  to  Dr.  Khayme  once  more  about  this 
matter.  Although  he  had  advised  me  in  Charleston  never 
to  speak  of  it  or  think  of  it,  he  had,  only  last  night,  referred 
to  it  himself. 

"  I  must  go  now.  Sergeant,"  said  I ;  "  can  I  do  anything  for 
you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not." 

"  You  are  able  to  write  your  own  letters  ?  " 


36  WHO   GOES   THEEE? 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  the  nurse  gives  me  a  bed-table." 

"  Well,  good-by." 

"  Say,  Jones,  you  remember  them  straw  stacks  ?  Good-by, 
Jones.     I'll  be  with  the  boys  again  before  long." 

In  the  afternoon  I  returned  to  the  little  camp  and  found  the 
Doctor  and  Lydia.  The  Doctor  was  busy  —  writing.  I  re- 
minded Lydia  of  her  promise  to  tell  me  something  about  her 
life  in  the  East. 

"  Where  shall  I  begin  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Begin  at  the  beginning,"  I  said  ;  "  begin  at  the  time  I  left 
Charleston." 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  "that  Father  had  at  that  time 
any  thought  of  going.  One  morning  he  surprised  me  by  tell- 
ing me  to  get  ready  for  a  long  journey." 

"  When  was  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  am  not  certain,  but  I  know  it  was  one  day  in  the  vaca- 
tion, and  a  good  while  after  you  left." 

"  It  must  have  been  in  September,  then." 

"  Yes,  I  am  almost  sure  it  Avas  in  September." 

"  I  suppose  you  were  very  glad  to  go." 

"  Yes,  I  was ;  but  Father's  intention  was  made  known  to  me 
so  suddenly  that  I  had  no  time  to  say  good-by  to  anybody,  and 
that  grieved  me." 

"  You  wanted  to  say  good-by  to  somebody  ?  " 

"  The  Sisters,  you  know —  and  my  schoolmates." 

"  Yes  —  of  course ;  did  your  old  servant  go  too  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  she  died  while  we  were  in  India." 

*'  I  remember  her  very  well.     So  you  went  to  India  ?  " 

"  Not  directly ;  we  sailed  first  to  Liverpool ;  then  we  went 
on  to  Paris  —  strange,  we  went  right  through  London,  and 
were  there  not  more  than  an  hour  or  two." 

"  How  long  did  you  stay  in  Paris  ?  " 

"Father  had  some  business  there  —  I  don't  know  what  — 
that  kept  us  for  two  or  three  weeks.  Then  we  went  to  Havre, 
and  took  a  ship  for  Bombay." 


THE  USES   OF  INFIEMITY  37 

"  And  so  you  were  in  India  most  of  the  time  wliile  you 
were  abroad  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  we  lived  in  India  nearly  three  years." 

"  In  Bombay  ?  " 

"  I  was  in  Bombay,  but  Father  was  absent  a  good  deal  of 
the  time." 

"  Did  you  go  to  school  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  smiling. 

Dinner  was  ready.  After  dinner  the  Doctor  and  I  sat 
under  the  trees.  I  told  him  of  my  wish  to  return  to  my 
company. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well,"  said  he. 

"  I  think  I  am  fit  for  duty,"  said  I. 

''  Yes,  you  are  strong  enough,"  said  he. 

"  Then  why  are  you  reluctant  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  your  health  is  safe  ;  you 
ran  a  narrower  risk  than  your  condition  now  would  show." 

"  And  you  think  there  is  danger  in  my  reporting  for 
duty  ?  " 

"Ordinary  bodily  exertion  will  not  injure  you;  exposure 
might ;  the  weather  is  very  warm." 

"  There  will  be  nothing  for  me  to  do  —  at  least,  nothing  very 
hard  on  me." 

"Danger  seems  at  present  averted,"  said  Dr.  Khayme. 
"  Your  depression  has  gone  ;  if  you  are  not  worse  to-morrow, 
I  shall  not  oppose  your  going." 

I  plunged  into  the  subject  most  interesting  to  me :  "Doctor, 
do  you  remember  telling  me,  some  ten  years  ago,  that  you  did 
not  think  it  advisable  for  me  to  tell  you  of  my  experiences  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied. 

"  And  that  it  was  best,  perhaps,  that  I  should  not  think  of 
them  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied. 

"  Yet  you  referred  last  night  to  what  you  called  my  peculiar 
powers." 


38  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"Yes,  and  said  that  it  is  possible  to  make  great  use  of 
them." 

"  Doctor,  do  you  know  that  after  I  left  you  in  Charleston 
I  had  a  recurrence  of  my  trouble  ?  " 

'*  I  had  at  least  suspected  it." 

"  Why  do  you  call  my  infirmity  a  peculiar  power  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Why  do  you  call  your  peculiar  power  an  infirmity?  "  he 
retorted.  Then,  with  the  utmost  seriousness,  he  went  on  to 
say  :  "  Everything  is  relative  ;  your  memory,  taking  it  gener- 
ally, is  better  than  that  of  some,  and  poorer  than  that  of 
others ;  as  it  is  affected  by  your  peculiar  periods,  it  is  in  some 
features  far  stronger  than  the  average  memory,  and  in  other 
features  it  is  weaker ;  have  you  not  known  this  ?  " 

"Yes;  lean  recall  any  object  that  I  have  seen;  its  image 
is  definite,  if  it  has  been  formed  in  a  lapse." 

"  But  in  respect  to  other  matters  than  objects  ?  " 

"  You  mean  as  to  thought  ?  " 

"  Yes  — speculation." 

"  In  a  lapse  I  seem  to  forget  any  mere  opinion,  or  specular 
tion,   that  is,  anything  not  an  established  fact." 

"  Suppose,  for  instance,  that  you  should  to-day  read  an 
article  written  to  show  that  the  moon  is  inhabited ;  would  you 
remember  it  in  one  of  your  '  states  '  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  I. 

"  Suppose  you  should  hear  a  discussion  of  the  tariff  ques- 
tion ;  would  you  remember  it  ? " 

"  No,  sir." 

"Suppose  you  should  hear  a  discussion  upon  the  right  to 
coerce  a  seceded  State,  and  should  to-day  reach  a  conclusion  as 
to  the  truth  of  the  controversy ;  now,  would  you  to-morrow,  in 
one  of  your  '  states,'  remember  the  discussion  ?  " 

"No;  certainly  not." 

"  Not  even  if  the  discussion  had  occurred  previously  to  the 
period  affected  by  your  memory  ?  " 

"  I  don't  exactly  catch  your  meaning.  Doctor." 


THE  USES   OF  IKFIRMITY  39 

"  I  mean  to  ask  what  attitude  your  mind  has,  in  one  of  your 
'  states/  toward  unsettled  questions." 

"  No  attitiide  whatever ;  I  know  nothing  of  such,  one  way 
or  the  other." 

"  How,  then,  could  you  ever  form  an  opinion  upon  a  disputed 
question  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Doctor ;  I  suppose  that  if  I  should  ever  form 
an  opinion  upon  anything  merely  speculative,  I  should  have  to 
do  it  from  new  material,  or  repeated  material,  of  thought." 

"  But  now  let  us  reverse  this  supposition :  suppose  that 
to-morrow  you  are  in  one  of  your  '  states,'  and  you  hear  a  dis- 
cussion and  draw  a  conclusion ;  will  this  conclusion  remain 
with  you  next  week  when  you  have  recovered  the  chain  of 
your  memory  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  your  mind  would  hold  to  its  former  decision  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  not  necessarily.  I  mean  that  my  memory  would 
retain  the  fact  that  I  had  formerly  decided  the  matter." 

"  And  in  your  recovered  state  you  might  reverse  a  decision 
made  while  in  a  lapse  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  But  the  undoubted  truths,  or  material  facts,  as  some  people 
call  them,  would  still  be  undoubted  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"And  objects  seen  while  in  a  'state'  will  be  remembered  by 
you  when  you  recover  ?  " 

"  Vividly  ;  if  I  could  draw,  I  could  draw  them  as  well  as  if 
they  were  present." 

"  It  would  not  be  wrong,  then,  to  say  that  what  you  lose  in 
one  period  you  gain  in  another  ?  that  what  you  lose  in  things 
doubtful  you  gain  in  intensity  of  fact  ?  " 

"Certainly  not  wrong,  though  I  cannot  say  that  the  loss  of 
one  causes  the  gain  of  the  other." 

"That  is  not  important;  yet  I  suspect  it  is  true  that 
your   faculty  is  quickened  in  one  function  by  relaxation  in 


40  WHO   GOES   THERE  ? 

another.  You  know  that  the  hearing  of  the  blind  is  very- 
acute." 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  see  how  all  this  shows  my  case  to  be  a 
good  thing." 

"  You  can  imagine  situations  in  which  hearing  is  of  greater 
value  than  sight  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"A  blind  scout  might  be  more  valuable  on  a  dark  night 
than  one  who  could  see." 

"Yes,  but  I  cannot  see  how  this  affects  me;  I  am  neither 
blind  nor  deaf,  nor  am  I  a  scout." 

"  But  it  can  be  said  that  a  good  memory  may  be  of  greater 
value  at  one  time  than  another." 

"Oh,  yes  ;  I  suppose  so." 

"  Now,"  said  Dr.  Khayme,  "  I  do  not  wish  you  to  believe 
for  a  moment  that  there  is  at  present  any  occasion  for  you  to 
turn  scout ;  I  have  merely  instanced  a  possible  case  in  which 
hearing  is  more  valuable  than  sight,  and  we  have  agreed  that 
memory  is  worth  more  at  times  than  at  other  times.  I  should 
like  to  relieve  you,  moreover,  of  any  fears  that  you  may  have 
in  regard  to  the  continuance  of  your  infirmity  —  as  you  insist 
on  thinking  it.     Cases  like  yours  always  recover." 

"Dr.  Abbott  once  told  me  that  my  case  was  not  entirely 
unique,"  said  I ;  "  but  I  thought  he  said  it  only  to  comfort 
me." 

"  There  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun,"  said  Dr.  Khayme ; 
"  we  have  such  cases  in  the  records  of  more  than  one  ancient 
writer.     Averroes  himself  clearly  refers  to  such  a  case." 

"He  must  have  lived  a  long  time  ago,"  said  I,  "judging 
from  the  sound  of  his  name ;  and  I  doubt  that  he  would  have 
compared  well  with  our  people." 

"But  more  remarkable  things  are  told  by  the  prophets  — 
even  your  own  prophets.  The  mental  changes  undergone  by 
Saul  of  Tarsus,  by  John  on  Patmos,  by  Nabuchodonosor,  and 
by  many  others,  are  not  less  wonderful  than  yours." 


THE  USES   OF  INFIRMITY  41 

"  They  were  miracles,"  said  I. 

"  What  is  miracle  ? "  asked  the  Doctor,  but  continued 
without  waiting  for  me  to  reply ;  "  more  wonderful  changes 
have  happened  and  do  happen  every  year  to  men's  minds  than 
this  which  has  happened  to  yours ;  men  lose  their  minds 
utterly  for  a  time,  and  then  recover  their  faculties  entirely ; 
men  lose  their  identity,  so  to  speak ;  men  can  be  changed  in 
an  hour,  by  the  use  of  a  drug,  into  different  creatures,  if  we 
are  to  judge  by  the  record  their  own  consciousness  gives 
them." 

"  I  cannot  doubt  my  own  senses,"  said  I ;  "  my  changes 
come  iipon  me  without  a  drug  and  in  a  moment." 

"If  you  will  read  Sir  William  Hamilton,  you  will  find 
authentic  records  which  will  forever  relieve  you  of  the  belief 
that  your  condition  is  unparalleled.  It  may  be  unique  in  that 
phase  of  it  which  I  hope  will  prove  valuable ;  but  as  to  its 
being  the  one  only  case  of  the  general  — " 

"  I  do  not  dispute  there  having  been  cases  as  strange  as 
mine,"  I  interrupted;  "your  word  for  that  is  enough;  but 
you  ought  to  tell  me  why  you  insist  on  the  possibility  of  a 
cure  and  the  usefulness  of  the  condition  at  the  same  time.  If 
the  condition  may  prove  useful,  why  change  it  ?  " 

"  There  are  many  things  in  nature,"  said  the  Doctor,  seri- 
ously, "there  are  many  things  in  nature  which  show  their 
greatest  worth  only  at  the  moment  of  their  extinction.  Your 
seeming  imperfection  of  memory  is,  I  repeat,  but  a  relaxation 
of  one  of  its  functions  in  order  that  another  function  may  be 
strengthened  —  and  all  for  a  purpose." 

"  What  is  that  purpose  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you." 

"  Why  can  you  not  ?  " 

"  Because,"  said  he,  "  the  manner  in  which  you  will  prove 
the  usefulness  of  your  power  is  yet  to  be  developed.  Gen- 
erally, I  might  say,  in  order  to  encourage  you,  that  it  will 
probably  be  given  to  you  to  serve  your  country  in  a  remark- 


42  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

able  way ;  but  as  to  tlie  how  and  when,  you  must  leave  it  to 
the  future  to  show." 

"  And.  you  think  that  such  a  service  will  be  at  the  end  of 
my  trouble  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  said  he ;  "  the  laws  of  the  mental  world, 
in  my  judgment,  require  that  your  recovery  should  follow 
the  period  concerning  which  your  factitious  memory  is 
brightest." 

"  But  how  can  a  private  soldier  serve  his  country  in  a  re- 
markable way  ?  "  I  said,  wondering. 

"  Wait,"  said  he. 

The  Doctor  filled  his  pipe  and  became  silent.  Lydia  was 
not  on  duty  this  night.  She  had  listened  gravely  to  what  had 
been  said.  Now  she  looked  up  with  a  faint  smile,  which  I 
thought  meant  that  she  was  willing  for  me  to  talk  to  her 
and  yet  reluctant  to  be  the  first  to  speak,  not  knowing  whether 
I  had  need  of  silence.  I  had  begun  to  have  a  high  opinion  of 
Lydia's  character. 

"  And  you  went  to  school  in  Bombay  ?  " 

"  Yes,  at  first." 

I  was  not  willing  to  show  a  bald  curiosity  concerning  her, 
and  I  suppose  my  hesitation  was  expressed  in  my  face,  for 
she  presently  continued. 

"  I  studied  and  worked  in  the  British  hospital ;  you  must 
know  that  I  am  a  nurse  with  some  training.  Father  was  very 
willing  for  me  to  become  a  nurse,  for  he  said  that  there  would 
be  war  in  America,  and  that  nurses  would  be  needed." 

Then,  turning  to  the  Doctor,  she  said,  "Father,  Mr.  Ber- 
wick asked  me  to-day  when  it  was  that  we  sailed  from  Charles- 
ton, and  I  was  unable  to  tell  him." 

''The  third  of  September,  1857,"  said  the  Doctor. 

I  remembered  that  this  was  my  sister's  birthday  and  also 
the  very  day  on  which  I  had  written  to  Dr.  Khayme  that 
I  should  not  return  to  Charleston.  The  coincidence  and  its 
bearing  on  my  af&iction  disturbed  me  so  that  I  could  not 


THE   USES   OF  INFIEMITY  43 

readily  continue  my  part  of  the  conversation,  and  Lydia  soon 
retired. 

"  Doctor,"  said  I,  "  to-morrow  morning  I  shall  be  ready  to 
report  to  my  company." 

"Very  well,  Jones,"  he  said,  "act  according  to  your  con- 
science ;  I  shall  see  you  frequently.  There  will  be  no  more 
battles  in  this  part  of  the  country  for  a  long  time,  and  it  will 
not  be  difficult  for  you  to  get  leave  of  absence  when  you  wish 
to  see  us.  Besides,  I  am  thinking  of  moving  our  camp  nearer 
to  you." 


VII 


A    SECOND    DISASTER 


"  Our  fortune  on  the  sea  is  out  of  breath 
And  sinks  most  lamentably."  —  Shakespeare. 

The  winter  brought  an  almost  endless  routine  of  drill, 
guard,  and  picket  duty  and  digging. 

The  division  was  on  duty  near  Budd's  Ferry.  Dr.  Khayme's 
quarters  were  a  mile  to  the  rear  of  our  left.  I  was  a  fre- 
quent visitor  at  his  tents.  After  Willis's  return  to  duty, 
which  was  in  November,  he  and  I  spent  much  of  our  spare 
time  at  the  Sanitary  camp.  It  was  easy  to  see  Avhat  attracted 
Jake.  It  did  not  seem  to  me  that  Dr.  Khayme  gave  much 
thought  to  the  sergeant,  but  Lydia  gravely  received  his  adora- 
tion silently  offered,  and  so  conducted  herself  in  his  presence 
that  I  was  puzzled  greatly  concerning  their  relations.  I  fre- 
quently wondered  why  the  sergeant  did  not  confide  in  me ; 
we  had  become  very  intimate,  so  that  in  everything,  except 
his  feeling  for  Miss  Khayme,  I  was  Willis's  bosom  friend,  so 
to  speak ;  in  that  matter,  however,  he  chose  to  ignore  me. 

One  night  —  it  was  the  night  of  February  6-7,  1862  —  I  was 
at  the  Doctor's  tent.  Jake  was  sergeant  of  the  camp  guard 
and  could  not  be  with  us.  The  Doctor  smoked  and  read,  en- 
gaging in  the  conversation,  however,  at  his  pleasure.  Lydia 
seemed  graver  than  usual.  I  wondered  if  it  could  be  because 
of  Willis's  absence.  It  seemed  to  me  impossible  that  this 
dignified  woman  could  entertain  a  passion  for  the  sergeant, 
who,  while  of  course  a  very  manly  fellow,  and  a  thorough 

4A 


A  SECOND  DISASTER  45 

soldier  in  his  way,  surely  was  not  on  a  level  with  Miss 
Khayme.  As  for  me,  ah !  well ;  I  knew  and  felt  keenly  that 
until  my  peculiar  mental  phases  should  leave  me  never  to 
return,  love  and  marriage  were  impossible  —  so  the  very  truth 
was,  and  always  had  been,  that  I  had  sufficient  strength  to 
restrain  any  incipient  desire,  and  prudence  enough  to  avoid 
temptation.  My  condition  encouraged  introspection.  I  was 
almost  constantly  probing  my  own  mind,  and  by  mere  strength 
of  will,  which  I  had  long  cultivated  until  —  I  suppose  there 
is  no  immodesty  in  saying  it  —  I  could  govern  myself,  I  drew 
back  from  every  obstacle  which  my  judgment  pronounced 
insurmountable.  The  Doctor  had  been  of  the  greatest  help 
to  me  in  this  development  of  the  will,  and  especially  in  that 
phase  or  exercise  of  it  called  self-control ;  one  of  his  common 
sayings  was,  "  He  who  resists  the  inevitable  increases  evil." 

Ever  since  when  as  a  boy  I  had  yielded  to  his  friendly 
guidance.  Dr.  Khayme  had  evidently  felt  a  sense  of  proprie- 
torship in  respect  to  me,  and  I  cherished  such  relationship; 
yet  there  had  been  many  times  in  our  recent  intercourse  when 
I  had  feared  him ;  so  keen  was  the  man's  insight.  The  j)ower 
that  he  exercised  over  me  I  submitted  to  gratefully  ;  I  felt 
that  he  was  a  man  well  fitted  for  counselling  youth,  and  I  had 
so  many  proofs  of  his  good-will,  even  of  his  affection,  that  I 
trusted  him  fully  in  regard  to  myself ;  yet,  with  all  this,  I  felt 
that  his  great  knowledge,  and  especially  his  wonderful  alert- 
ness of  judgment,  which  amounted  in  many  cases  seemingly 
to  prophetic  power  almost,  were  doubtful  quantities  in  relation 
to  the  war.  I  believed  that  he  was  admitted  to  high  council ; 
I  had  frequent  glimpses  of  intimations  —  seemingly  unguarded 
on  his  part  —  that  he  knew  beforehand  circumstances  and  proj- 
ects not  properly  to  be  spoken  of ;  but  somehow,  from  a  look, 
or  a  word,  or  a  movement  now  and  then,  I  had  almost  reached 
the  opinion  that  Dr.  Khayme  was  absolutely  neutral  between 
the  contestants  in  the  war  of  the  rebellion.  He  never 
showed    anxiety.      The   news   of    the   Ball's   Bluff    disaster, 


46  WHO  GOES  THEEE  ? 

which  touched  so  keenly  the  heart  of  the  North,  and  espe- 
cially of  Massachusetts,  gave  him  no  distress,  to  judge  from  his 
impassive  face  and  his  manner;  yet  it  is  but  just  to  repeat 
that  he  showed  great  interest  in  every  event  directly  relating 
to  the  existence  of  slavery.  He  commended  the  acts  of  Gen- 
eral Butler  in  Virginia  and  General  Fremont  in  Missouri,  and 
hoped  that  the  Southern  leaders  would  impress  all  able-bodied 
slaves  into  some  sort  of  service,  so  that  they  would  become 
at  least  morally  subject  to  the  act  of  Congress,  approved 
August  6,  which  declared  all  such  persons  discharged  from 
previous  servitude.  In  comparing  my  own  attitude  to  the  war 
with  the  Doctor's,  I  frequently  thought  that  he  cared  nothing 
for  the  Union,  and  I  cared  everything ;  that  he  was  concerned 
only  in  regard  to  human  slavery,  while  I  was  willing  for  the 
States  themselves  to  settle  that  matter  ;  for  I  could  see  no  con- 
stitutional power  existing  in  the  Congress  or  in  the  President 
to  abolish  or  even  mitigate  slavery  without  the  consent  of  the 
party  of  the  first  part.  I  was  in  the  war  not  on  account  of 
slavery,  certainly,  but  on  account  of  the  preservation  of 
the  Union;  Dr.  Khayme  was  in  the  war  —  so  far  as  he  was 
in  it  at  all  —  not  for  the  Union,  but  for  the  abolition  of 
slavery. 

On  this  night  of  February  6,  the  Doctor  smoked  and  read 
and  occasionally  gave  utterance  to  some  thought. 

"Jones,"  said  he,  ''we  are  going  to  have  news  from  the 
West ;  Grant  advances." 

"  I  trust  he  will  have  better  luck  than  McDowell  had,"  was 
my  reply. 

"  He  will ;  I  don't  know  that  he  is  a  better  general,  but  he 
has  the  help  of  the  navy." 

"  But  the  rebels  have  their  river  batteries,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  and  these  batteries  are  costly,  and  will  prove  insuffi- 
cient ;  if  the  North  succeeds  in  this  war,  and  I  see  no  reason 
to  doubt  her  success  if  she  will  but  determine  to  succeed,  it 
will  be  through  her  nav)^" 


A   SECOND  DISASTER  47 

I  did  not  say  anything  to  this.  The  Doctor  smoked.  Lydia 
sat  looking  dreamily  at  the  door  of  the  stove. 

After  a  while  I  asked:  "Why  is  it  that  we  do  not  move? 
February  is  a  spring  month  in  the  South." 

The  Doctor  replied,  "  It  is  winter  here,  and  the  roads  are  bad." 

"  Is  it  not  winter  in  Kentucky  and  Tennessee  ?  " 

"  Grant  has  the  help  of  the  navy ;  McClellan  will  move 
when  he  gets  the  help  of  the  navy." 

"  What  good  can  the  navy  do  between  Washington  and 
Richmond  ?  " 

"  The  James  River  flows  by  Richmond,"  said  the  Doctor. 

I  had  already  heard  some  talk  of  differences  between  our 
general  and  the  President  in  regard  to  a  removal  of  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac  to  Fortress  Monroe.  I  asked  the  Doctor  if 
McClellan  would  advance  on  Richmond  by  the  Peninsular 
route,  as  it  was  called. 

"  He  will  if  he  is  allowed  to  do  so,"  replied  the  Doctor ;  "  at 
least,"  he  added,  "that  is  my  opinion;  in  fact,  I  am  so  well 
convinced  of  it  that  I  shall  make  preparation  at  once  to  remove 
my  camp  to  some  good  place  near  Fort  Monroe." 

This  intention  was  new  to  me,  and  it  gave  me  great  distress. 
What  I  should  do  with  myself  after  the  Doctor  had  gone,  I 
did  not  know;  I  should  get  along  somehow,  of  course,  but 
I  should  miss  my  friends  sadly. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it.  Doctor,"  said  I,  speaking  to 
him  and  looking  at  Lydia;  her  face  was  impervious. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  Doctor,  with  his  rare  and  peculiar  smile, 
"maybe  we  can  take  you  with  us;  you  would  only  be  going 
ahead  of  your  regiment." 

Lydia's  face  was  still  inflexible,  her  eyes  on  the  fire.  I 
wished  for  a  chance  to  bring  Willis's  name  to  the  front,  but 
saw  none. 

"  I  don't  see  how  that  could  be  done,  Doctor ;  I  confess  that 
I  should  like  very  much  to  go  with  you,  but  how  can  I  get 
leave  of  absence  ?  " 


48  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"  Where  there  is  a  will  there  is  a  way." 

"  Yes,  but  I  have  no  will ;  I  have  only  a  desire,"  said  I, 
gloomily. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  I  have  will  enough  for  both  of 
us  and  to  spare." 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  you  can  get  me  leave  of  absence  ?  " 

"  Wait  and  see.  When  the  time  comes,  there  will  be  no 
trouble,  unless  things  change  very  greatly  meanwhile." 

I  bade  my  friends  good  night  and  went  back  to  my  hut.  The 
weather  was  mild.  My  way  was  over  hills  and  hollows,  mak- 
ing me  walk  somewhat  carefully ;  but  I  did  not  walk  carefully 
enough  —  I  stumbled  and  fell,  and  bruised  my  back. 

The  next  day  I  was  on  camp  guard.  The  weather  was 
intensely  cold.  A  bitter  wind  from  the  north  swept  the  Mary- 
land hills ;  snow  and  rain  and  sleet  fell,  all  together.  For 
two  hours,  alternating  with  four  hours'  relief,  I  paced  my 
beat  back  and  forth ;  at  six  o'clock,  when  I  was  finally  relieved, 
I  was  wet  to  the  skin.  When  I  reached  my  quarters,  I  went 
to  bed  at  once  and  fell  into  a  half  sleep. 

Some  time  in  the  forenoon  I  found  Dr.  Khayme  bending 
over  me,  with  his  hand  on  my  temples. 

"  You  have  had  too  much  of  it,"  said  he. 

I  looked  up  at  him  and  tried  to  speak,  but  said  nothing. 
Great  pain  followed  every  breath.     My  back  seemed  on  fire. 

The  Doctor  wanted  to  remove  me  to  his  own  hospital  tent, 
but  dreaded  that  I  was  too  ill.  Yet  there  was  no  privacy, 
the  hut  being  occupied  by  four  men.  Dr.  Khayme  found 
means  to  get  rid  of  all  my  messmates  except  Willis ;  they 
were  crowded  into  other  quarters.  The  surgeon  of  the  Eleventh 
had  given  the  Doctor  free  course. 

Eor  two  weeks  Willis  nursed  me  faithfully.  Dr.  Khayme 
came  every  day  —  on  some  days  several  times.  Lydia  never 
came. 

One  bright  day,  near  the  end  of  February,  I  was  placed  in 
a  litter  and  borne  by  four  men  to  the  Doctor's  hospital  tent. 


A   SECOND  DISASTER  49 

My  father  came.  This  was  the  first  time  he  and  Dr.  Khayme 
met.     They  became  greatly  attached. 

My  progress  toward  health  was  now  rapid.  Willis  was 
with  me  whenever  he  was  not  on  duty.  The  Doctor's  reme- 
dies gave  way  to  simple  care,  in  which  Lydia  was  the  chief 
priest.  Lydia  would  read  to  me  at  times  —  but  for  short  times, 
as  the  Doctor  forbade  my  prolonged  attention.  I  was  not 
quite  sure  that  Lydia  was  doing  me  good ;  I  liked  the  sound 
of  her  voice,  yet  when  she  would  cease  reading  I  felt  more 
nervous  than  before,  and  I  could  not  remember  what  she  had 
read.  So  far  as  I  could  see,  there  was  no  understanding  be- 
tween Lydia  and  Willis ;  yet  it  was  very  seldom  that  I  saw 
them  together. 

One  evening,  after  the  lamps  were  lighted,  my  father  told 
us  that  he  would  return  home  on  the  next  day.  "  Jones  is  in 
good  hands,"  said  he,  "and  my  business  demands  my  care;  I 
shall  always  have  you  in  remembrance.  Doctor ;  you  have 
saved  my  boy." 

The  Doctor  said  nothing.  I  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  propped 
with  pillows  and  blankets. 

"  The  Doctor  has  always  been  kind  to  me,  Father,"  said  I ; 
"  ever  since  he  received  the  letter  you  wrote  him  in  Charles- 
ton, he  has  been  my  best  friend." 

"  The  letter  I  wrote  him  ?  I  don't  remember  having  written 
him  a  letter,"  said  my  father. 

"  You  have  forgotten.  Father,"  said  I ;  "  you  wrote  him  a 
letter  in  which  you  told  him  that  you  were  sure  he  could  help 
me.  The  Doctor  gave  me  the  letter ;  I  have  it  at  home,  some- 
where." 

The  Doctor  was  silent,  and  the  subject  was  not  continued. 

Conversation  began  again,  this  time  concerning  the  movements 
and  battles  in  the  West.  The  Doctor  said  :  "  Jones,  the  news 
has  been  kept  from  you.  On  February  6,  General  Grant  cap- 
tured Fort  Henry,  which  success  led  ten  days  later  to  the  sur- 
render of  Buckner's  army  at  Fort  Donelson." 


00  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

"The  6th  of  February,  you  say?"  I  almost  cried;  "that 
was  the  last  time  I  saw  you  before  I  got  sick ;  on  that  very 
day  you  talked  about  Grant's  coming  successes  !  " 

"It  did  not  need  any  great  foresight  for  that,"  said  the 
Doctor. 

"  You  said  that  Grant  had  the  navy  to  help  him,  and  that 
he  certainly  would  not  fail." 

"And  it  was  the  navy  that  took  Fort  Henry,"  said  my 
father. 

On  the  day  following  that  on  which  my  father  left  us,  I 
was  sitting  in  a  folding  chair,  trying  to  read  for  the  first  time 
since  my  illness  began. 

Dr.  Khayme  entered,  with  a  paper  in  his  hand.  "  We'll 
go,  my  boy,"  said  he ;  "  we'll  go  at  once  and  avoid  the 
crowd." 

"  Go  where,  Doctor  ?  " 

"  To  Fort  Monroe,"  said  he. 

"  Go  to  Fortress  Monroe,  and  avoid  the  crowd  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we'll  go." 

"  What  are  we  going  there  for  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  remember  that  I  thought  of  going  there  ?  " 

"  When  was  it  that  you  told  me.  Doctor  ?  " 

"  On  the  night  before  you  became  ill.  I  told  you  that  if 
General  McClellan  could  have  his  way,  he  would  transfer  the 
army  to  Fort  Monroe,  and  advance  on  Richmond  by  the  Pen- 
insular route." 

"  Yes,  I  begin  to  remember." 

"  Well,  President  Lincoln  has  yielded  to  General  McClellan's 
urgent  arguments;  the  movement  will  be  begun  as  soon  as 
transportation  can  be  provided  for  such  an  operation ;  it  will 
take  weeks  yet." 

"  And  you  are  going  to  move  down  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  before  the  army  moves ;  this  is  your  written  author- 
ity to  go  with  me  ;  don't  you  want  to  go  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  that  I  do,"  said  I. 


A   SECOND   DISASTER  51 

"  The  spring  is  earlier  down  there  by  at  least  two  weeks," 
said  the  Doctor  ;  "  the  change  will  mean  much  to  you ;  you 
will  be  ready  for  dut}^  by  the  time  your  regiment  comes." 

Lydia  was  not  in  the  tent  while  this  conversation  was  going 
on,  but  she  came  in  soon  afterward,  and  I  was  glad  to  see 
that  she  was  certainly  pleased  with  the  prospect  of  moving. 
Her  eyes  were  brighter.  She  began  at  once  to  get  together 
some  loose  things,  although  we  had  several  days  in  which  to 
make  our  preparations.  I  could  not  keep  from  laughing  at 
her ;  at  the  same  time  I  felt  that  my  amusement  was  caused 
by  her  willingness  to  get  away  for  a  time  from  the  army, 
rather  than  by  anything  else. 

"  So  you  are  in  a  hurry  to  get  away,"  I  said. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  get  down  there,"  she  replied,  "  and  I 
have  the  habit  of  getting  ready  gradually  when  Ave  move.  It 
saves  worry  and  fluster  when  the  time  comes."  Her  face  was 
very  bright. 

"That  is  the  longest  speech  you  have  made  to  me  in  a 
week,"  said  I. 

She  turned  and  looked  full  at  me  ;  then  her  expression 
changed  to  severity,  and  she  went  out. 

That  night  Willis  came ;  before  he  saw  me  he  had  learned 
that  we  were  to  go ;  he  was  very  blank. 

******* 

The  6th  of  March  found  us  in  camp  in  the  Doctor's  tents 
pitched  near  Newport  News.  The  weather  was  mild;  the 
voyage  had  helped  me.  I  sat  outside  in  the  sunshine,  enjoy- 
ing the  south  wind.  With  the  help  of  the  Doctor's  arm  or  of 
Lydia's  —  given,  I  feared,  somewhat  unwillingly  —  I  walked  a 
little.  These  were  happy  days  ;  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  con- 
valesce. The  Southern  climate  has  always  helped  me.  I  was 
recovering  fast. 

I  liked  the  Doctor  more  than  ever,  if  possible.  Every  day 
Vv^e  talked  of  everything,  but  especially  of  philosophy,  inter- 
esting to  both  of  us,  though  of  course  I  could  not  pretend  to 


52  WHO  GOES  THERE? 

keep  pace  with  his  advanced  thought.  We  talked  of  the  war, 
its  causes,  its  probable  results. 

"  Jones,  it  matters  not  how  this  war  shall  end ;  the  Union 
will  be  preserved." 

I  had  never  before  heard  him  make  just  this  declaration, 
though  I  had  had  intimations  that  such  was  his  opinion.  I 
was  glad  to  hear  this  speech.  It  seemed  to  place  the  Doctor 
in  favour  of  the  North,  and  I  felt  relieved. 

"  Continue,"  I  begged. 

"You  know  that  I  have  said  many  times  that  the  war  is 
unnecessary;  that  all  war  is  crime." 

"  Yes." 

"  Yet  you  know  that  I  have  maintained  that  slavery  also  is 
a  crime  and  must  be  suppressed." 

"  Yes,  and  I  confess  that  you  have  seemed  inconsistent." 

"  I  know  you  think  the  two  positions  contradictory  ;  but 
both  these  views  are  sound  and  true.  War  is  a  crime  ;  slavery 
is  a  crime :  these  are  two  truths  and  they  cannot  clash.  I  will 
go  farther  and  say  that  the  North  is  right  and  the  South  is 
right." 

"  Doctor,  you  are  astonishing.  You  will  find  it  hard  to  con- 
vince me  that  both  of  these  statements  can  be  true." 

"  Well,  are  you  ready  to  listen  ?  " 

"  Ready  and  willing.  But  why  is  it  that  you  say  both  sec- 
tions are  right  ?  Why  do  you  not  prove  that  they  are  both 
wrong  ?     You  are  speaking  of  crime,  not  virtue." 

"  Of  course  they  are  both  wrong  in  the  acts  of  which  we  are 
speaking;  but  in  regard  to  the  principles  upon  which  they 
seem  to  differ,  they  are  right,  and  these  are  what  I  wish  to 
speak  of." 

"  Well,  I  listen.  Doctor." 

"  Then  first  let  me  say  that  the  world  is  ruled  by  a  higher 
power  than  General  McClellan  or  Mr.  Jefferson  Davis." 

"Agreed." 

"  The  world  is  ruled  by  a  power  that  has  far-reaching,  even 


A   SECOND  DISASTER  53 

eternal,  purpose,  and  the  power  is  as  great  as  the  purpose ; 
the  power  is  infinite." 

"  I  follow  you." 

"  This  power  cannot  act  contrary  to  its  own  purpose,  nor  can 
it  purpose  what  it  will  not  execute." 

"Please  illustrate,  Doctor." 

"  Suppose  God  should  purpose  to  make  a  world,  and  instead 
of  making  a  world  should  make  a  comet." 

"  He  would  not  be  God,"  said  I,  "  unless  the  comet  should 
happen  to  be  in  a  fair  way  of  becoming  a  world." 

"  Exactly ;  to  act  contrary  to  His  purpose  would  be  caprice 
or  failure." 

"  Yes ;  I  see,  or  think  I  do." 

"  Not  difficult  at  all ;  I  simply  say  that  war  is  a  crime  and 
slavery  a  crime.     Two  truths  cannot  clash." 

"Then  you  mean  to  say  that  God  has  purposed  to  bring 
slavery  into  existence,  and  war,  also  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  What  1  mean  to  say  is  that  His  purpose  over- 
rules and  works  beyond  both.  Man  makes  slavery,  and  makes 
war ;  God  turns  them  into  means  for  advancing  His  cause." 

"Perhaps  I  can  understand,  Doctor,  that  what  you  say  is 
true.     But  I  do  not  see  how  the  South  can  be  right." 

"  What  are  all  those  crowds  of  people  doing  down  on  the 
battery  ?  "  asked  Lydia,  suddenly. 

It  was  about  two  o'clock.  We  had  walked  slowly  toward 
the  beach. 

"  They  are  all  looking  in  our  direction,"  said  Dr.  Khayme ; 
"  they  see  something  that  interests  them." 

Across  the  water  in  the  southeast  could  be  seen  smoke,  which 
the  wind  blew  toward  us.  Some  officers  upon  a  low  sand-hill 
near  us  were  looking  intently  through  their  field-glasses. 

"  I'll  go  and  find  out,"  said  the  Doctor ;  "  stay  here  till  I 
return." 

We  saw  him  reach  the  hill ;  one  of  the  officers  handed  him 
a  glass ;  he  looked,  and  came  back  to  us  rapidly. 


54  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

"  We  are  promised  a  spectacle ;  I  shall  run  to  my  tent  for  a 
glass,"  said  he. 

"  What  is  it  all  about,  Father  ?  "  asked  Lydia. 

"  A  Confederate  war-vessel,"  said  he,  and  was  gone. 

"  I  hope  she  will  be  captured,"  said  I ;  *'  and  I  have  no  doubt 
she  will." 

"  You  have  not  read  the  papers  lately,"  said  Lydia. 

"  No ;  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  there  are  many  rumours  of  a  new  and  powerful 
iron  steamer  which  the  Confederates  have  built  at  Norfolk," 
she  replied. 

"  Iron  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  say  it  is  iron,  or  at  least  that  it  is  protected  with 
iron,  so  that  it  cannot  be  injured." 

"Well,  if  that  is  the  case,  why  do  we  let  our  wooden  ships 
remain  here  ?  " 

The  Doctor  now  rejoined  us.  He  handed  me  a  glass.  I 
could  see  a  vessel  off  toward  Norfolk,  seemingly  headed  in  our 
direction.  Lydia  took  the  glass,  and  exclaimed,  "  That  must 
be  the  Merrimac !  what  a  strange-looking  ship  !  " 

The  crowds  on  the  batteries  near  Newport  News  and  along 
the  shore  were  fast  increasing.  The  Doctor  said  not  a  word ; 
indeed,  throughout  the  prodigious  scene  that  followed  he  was 
silent,  and,  to  all  seeming,  emotionless. 

Some  ships  of  war  were  at  anchor  not  far  from  the  shore. 
With  the  unaided  eye  great  bustle  could  be  seen  on  these 
ships ;  two  of  them  were  but  a  very  short  distance  from  us. 

The  smoke  in  the  south  came  nearer.  I  had  walked  and 
stood  until  I  needed  rest ;  I  sat  on  the  ground. 

Now,  at  our  left,  toward  Fortress  Monroe,  we  could  see 
three  ships  moving  up  toward  the  two  which  were  near  us. 

The  strange  vessel  come  on ;  we  could  see  a  flag  flying. 
The  design  of  the  flag  was  two  broad  red  stripes  with  a  white 
stripe  between. 

The  big  ship  was  nearer ;  her  form  was  new  and  strange , 


A   SECOND  DISASTER  $|f 

a  large  roof,  with  little  showing  above  it.  She  seemed  head- 
ing toward  Fortress  Monroe. 

Suddenly  she  swung  round  and  came  slowly  on  toward  our 
two  ships  near  Newport  News. 

The  two  Federal  ships  opened  their  guns  upon  the  rebel 
craft ;  the  batteries  on  shore  turned  loose  on  her. 

Lydia  put  her  hands  to  her  ears,  but  soon  took  them  away. 
She  was  used  to  wounds,  but  had  never  before  seen  battle. 

From  above  —  the  James  River,  as  I  afterward  knew  — 
now  came  down  some  smaller  rebel  ships  to  engage  in  the 
fight,  but  they  were  too  small  to  count  for  much. 

Suddenly  the  Merrimac  fired  one  gun,  still  moving  on 
toward  our  last  ship  —  the  ship  at  the  west ;  still  she  moved 
on,  and  on,  and  on,  and  struck  our  ship  with  her  prow,  and 
backed. 

The  Union  ships  continued  to  fire ;  the  batteries  and  gun- 
boats kept  up  their  fire. 

The  big  rebel  boat  turned  and  made  for  our  second  ship, 
which  was  now  endeavouring  to  get  away.  The  Merrimac  fired 
upon  her,  gun  after  gun. 

Our  ship  stuck  fast,  and  could  not  budge,  but  she  continued 
to  fire. 

The  ship  which  had  been  rammed  began  to  lurch  and  at  last 
she  sank,  with  her  guns  firing  as  she  went  down. 

Lydia's  face  was  the  picture  of  desolation.  Her  lips  parted. 
The  Doctor  observed  her,  and  drew  her  arm  within  his  own ; 
she  sighed  heavily,  but  did  not  speak. 

The  rebel  ship  stood  still  and  fired  many  times  on  our  ship 
aground;  and  white  flags  were  at  last  seen  on  the  Union 
vessel. 

Now  the  small  rebel  ships  approached  the  prize,  but  our 
shore  batteries,  and  even  our  infantry  on  shore,  kept  up  a 
rapid  fire  to  prevent  the  capture.  Soon  the  small  ships 
steamed  away,  and  the  great  craft  fired  again  and  again  into 
the  surrendered  vessel,  and  set  her  afire. 


66  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

Then  still  another  Union  ship  took  part  in  the  contest ;  she 
also  was  aground,  yet  she  fought  the  rebel  vessels. 

The  great  ship  turned  again  and  steamed  toward  the  south 
until  she  was  lost  in  the  thickening  darkness.  Meanwhile, 
the  burning  ship  was  a  sheet  of  flame  ;  we  could  see  men  leap 
from  her  deck ;  boats  put  off  from  the  shore. 

"  The  play  is  over ;  let's  go  to  supper,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"1  want  no  food,"  said  I. 

"  You  must  not  stay  in  this  air ;  besides,  you  will  feel  better 
when  you  have  eaten,"  he  replied. 

Lydia  was  silent ;  her  face  was  wet  with  tears. 

Groups  of  soldiers  stood  in  our  way  ;  some  were  mad  with 
excitement,  gesticulating  and  cursing;  others  were  mute  and 
white.  I  heard  one  say,  "  My  God  !  what  will  become  of  the 
Minnesota  to-morrow  ?  " 

The  Doctor's  face  was  calm,  but  tense.  My  heart  seemed  to 
have  failed. 

The  burning  Congress  threw  around  us  a  light  brighter  than 
the  moon ;  each  of  us  had  two  shadows. 

We  sat  down  to  supper.  "  Doctor,"  said  I,  ''  how  can  you 
be  so  calm  ?  " 

"  Why,  my  boy,"  he  said,  "  I  counted  on  such,  long  ago  — 
and  worse ;  besides,  you  know  that  I  believe  everything  will 
come  right." 

"What  is  to  prevent  the  Merrimac  from  destroying  our 
whole  fleet  and  then  destroying  our  coast  ?  " 

"God  !  "  said  Dr.  Khayme. 

Lydia  kissed  him  and  burst  into  weeping. 

*  *  *  #  #  #  * 

So  far  as  I  can  remember,  I  have  passed  no  more  anxious 
night  in  my  life  than  the  night  of  the  8th  of  March,  1862.  My 
health  did  not  permit  me  to  go  out  of  the  tent ;  but  from  the 
gloomy  rumours  of  the  camps  I  knew  that  my  anxiety  was 
shared  by  all.  Strange,  I  thought,  that  my  experience  in  war 
should  be  so  peculiarly  disastrous.     Bull  Run  had  been  but 


A   SECOND   DISASTER  57 

the  first  horror ;  here  was  another  and  possibly  a  worse  one. 
The  East  seemed  propitious  to  the  rebels ;  Grant  alone,  of 
our  side,  could  gain  victories. 

The  burning  ship  cast  a  lurid  glare  over  land  and  sea; 
dense  smoke  crept  along  the  coast ;  shouts  came  to  my  ears  — 
great  effort,  I  knew,  was  being  made  to  get  the  Minnesota  off ; 
nobody  could  have  slept  that  night. 

The  Doctor  made  short  absences  from  his  camp.  At  ten 
o'clock  he  came  in  finally;  a  smile  was  on  his  face.  Lydia 
had  heard  him,  and  now  came  in  also. 

"  Jones,"  said  he,  "  what  will  you  give  me  for  good  news  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Doctor,"  said  I,  "  don't  tantalize  me.'' 

Lydia  was  watching  the  Doctor's  face. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  must  make  a  bargain.  If  I  tell  you 
something  to  relieve  your  fears,  will  you  promise  me  to  go  to 
sleep?" 

"  Yes ;  I  shall  be  glad  to  go  to  sleep ;  the  quicker  the  better." 

"  Well,  then,  the  Merrimac  will  meet  her  match  if  she  comes 
out  to-morrow." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Doctor  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  a  United  States  war-vessel,  fully  equal  to  the 
Merrimac,  has  arrived." 

Lydia  left  the  tent. 

I  almost  shouted.  I  could  no  more  go  to  sleep  than  I  could 
fly.  I  started  to  get  out  of  bed.  The  Doctor  put  his  hand  on 
my  head,  and  gently  pressed  me  back  to  my  pillow. 


VIII 

THE    TWO    SOUTHS 

"  Yet  spake  yon  purple  mountain, 
Yet  said  yon  ancient  wood, 
That  Night  or  Day,  that  Love  or  Crime, 
Lead  all  souls  to  the  Good."  —  Emerson. 

About  two  in  the  morniug  I  was  awaked  by  a  noise  that 
seemed  to  shake  the  world.  The  remainder  of  the  night  was 
full  of  troubled  dreams. 

I  thought  that  I  saw  a  battle  on  a  vast  plain.  Two  armies 
were  ranked  against  each  other  and  fought  and  intermingled. 
The  dress  of  the  soldiers  in  the  one  army  was  like  the  dress 
of  the  soldiers  in  the  other  army,  and  the  flags  were  alike  in 
colour,  so  that  no  soldier  could  say  which  flags  were  his.  The 
men  intermingled  and  fought,  and,  not  able  to  know  enemy 
from  friend,  slew  friend  and  enemy,  and  slew  until  but  two 
opponents  remained;  these  two  shook  hands,  and  laughed, 
and  I  saw  their  faces  ;  and  the  face  of  one  was  the  face  of 
Dr.  Khayme,  but  the  face  of  the  other  I  did  not  know. 

Now,  dreams  have  always  been  of  but  little  interest  to  me. 
I  had  dreamed  true  dreams  at  times,  but  I  had  dreamed  many 
more  that  were  false.  In  my  ignorance  of  the  powers  and 
weaknesses  of  the  mind,  I  had  judged  that  it  would  be  strange 
if  among  a  thousand  dreams  not  one  should  prove  true.  So 
this  dream  passed  for  the  time  from  my  mind. 

We  had  breakfast  early.  The  Doctor  was  always  calm  and 
grave.  Lydia  looked  anxious,  yet  more  cheerful.  There  was 
little  talk ;  we  expected  a  trial  to  our  nerves. 

58 


THE  TWO   SOUTHS  69 

After  breakfast  the  Doctor  took  two  camp-stools ;  Lydia 
carried  one ;  we  went  to  a  sand-hill  near  the  beach. 

To  the  south  of  the  Minnesota  now  lay  a  peculiar  vessel. 
No  one  had  ever  seen  anything  like  her.  She  seemed  nothing 
but  a  flat  raft  with  a  big  round  cistern  —  such  as  are  seen  in 
the  South  aud  West  —  amidships,  and  a  very  big  box  or  barrel 
on  one  end. 

The  Merrimac  was  coming ;  there  were  crowds  of  spectators 
on  the  batteries  and  on  the  dunes. 

The  Monitor  remained  near  the  Minnesota ;  the  Merrimac 
came  on.  From  each  of  the  iron  ships  came  great  spouts  of 
smoke,  from  each  the  sound  of  heavy  guns.  The  wind  drove 
away  the  smoke  rapidly ;  every  manoeuvre  could  be  seen. 

The  Merrimac  looked  like  a  giant  by  the  side  of  the  other, 
but  the  other  was  quicker. 

They  fought  for  hours,  the  Merrimac  slowly  moving  past 
the  Monitor  and  firing  many  guns,  the  Monitor  turning  quickly 
and  seeming  to  fire  but  seldom.  Sometimes  they  were  so  near 
each  other  they  seemed  to  touch. 

At  last  they  parted ;  the  Monitor  steamed  toward  the  shore, 
and  the  great  Merrimac  headed  southward  and  went  away  into 
the  distance. 

Throughout  the  whole  of  this  battle  there  had  been  silence 
in  our  little  group,  nor  did  we  hear  shout  or  word  near  us : 
feeling  was  too  deep ;  on  the  issue  of  the  contest  depended 
vast  results. 

When  the  ships  ended  their  fighting  I  felt  immense  relief; 
I  could  not  tell  whether  our  side  had  won,  but  I  knew  that  the 
Merrimac  had  hauled  off  without  accomplishing  her  purpose ; 
I  think  that  was  all  that  any  of  us  knew.  At  any  moment  I 
should  not  have  been  astonished  to  see  the  Merrimac  blow  her 
little  antagonist  to  pieces,  or  run  her  down;  to  my  mind  the 
fight  had  been  very  unequal. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  Doctor,  as  he  led  the  way  back  to  his 
camp,  "  and  now  McClellan's  army  can  come  without  fear." 


60  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

*'Do  you  think,"  I  asked,  "that  the  Merrimac  is  so  badly 
done  up  that  she  will  not  try  it  again  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied;  "  we  cannot  see  or  tell  how  badly  she  is 
damaged  ;  but  of  one  thing  we  may  feel  sure,  that  is,  that  if 
she  could  have  fought  longer  with  hope  of  victory,  she  would 
not  have  retired;  her  retreat  means  that  she  has  renounced 
her  best  hope." 

The  dinner  was  cheerful.  I  saw  Lydia  eat  for  the  first  time 
in  nearly  two  days.  She  was  still  very  serious,  however.  She 
had  become  accustomed  in  hospital  work  to  some  of  the  results 
of  battle ;  now  she  had  witnessed  war  itself. 

After  dinner  the  conversation  naturally  turned  upon  the 
part  the  navy  would  perform  in  the  war.  The  Doctor  said 
that  it  was  our  fleet  that  would  give  us  a  final  preponderance 
over  the  South. 

"  The  blockade,"  said  he,  "  is  as  nearly  effective  as  such  a 
stupendous  undertaking  could  well  be." 

"It  seems  that  the  rebels  find  ways  to  break  it  at  odd 
times,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure ;  but  it  will  gradually  become  more  and  more 
restrictive.  The  Confederates  will  be  forced  at  length  to  depend 
upon  their  own  resources,  and  will  be  shut  out  from  the  world." 

"  But  suppose  England  or  France  recognizes  the  South," 
said  Lydia. 

"  Neither  will  do  so,"  replied  her  father.  "  England,  espe- 
cially, thinks  clearly  and  rightly  about  this  war;  England 
cares  nothing  about  states'  rights  or  the  reverse ;  the  heart 
of  England,  though,  beats  true  on  the  slavery  question ;  Eng- 
land will  never  recognize  the  South." 

"  You  believe  the  war  will  result  in  the  destruction  of 
slavery  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Of  racial  slavery,  yes ;  of  aL  slavery,  nominally.  If  I  did 
not  believe  that,  I  should  feel  no  interest  in  this  war." 

"  But  President  Lincoln  has  publicly  announced  that  he  has 
no  intention  of  interfering  with  slavery." 


THE   TWO   SOUTHS  61 

"  He  will  be  forced  to  interfere.  This  war  ought  to  have 
been  avoided;  but  now  that  it  exists,  it  will  not  end  until  the 
peculiar  institution  of  the  South  is  destroyed.  But  for  the 
existence  of  slavery  in  the  South,  England  would  recognize 
the  South.  England  has  no  political  love  for  the  United 
States,  and  would  not  lament  greatly  the  dissolution  of  the 
Union.  The  North  will  be  compelled  to  extinguish  slavery 
in  order  to  prevent  England  from  recognizing  the  South.  The 
Union  cannot  now  be  preserved  except  on  condition  of  freeing 
the  slaves ;  therefore,  Jones,  I  am  willing  to  compromise  with 
you ;  I  am  for  saving  the  Union  in  order  to  destroy  slavery, 
and  you  may  be  for  the  destruction  of  slavery  in  order  to  save 
the  Union ! 

"  The  Union  is  destroyed  if  secession  succeeds ;  secession 
will  succeed  unless  slavery  is  abolished ;  it  cannot  be  abol- 
ished by  constitutional  means,  therefore  it  will  be  abolished 
by  usurpation ;  you  see  how  one  crime  always  leads  to 
another." 

"But,"  said  I,  "you  assume  that  the  South  is  fighting  for 
slavery  only,  whereas  her  leaders  proclaim  loudly  that  she  is 
fighting  for  self-government." 

"  She  knows  that  it  would  be  suicidal  to  confess  that  she  is 
fighting  for  slavery,  and  she  does  not  confess  it  even  to  her- 
self. But  when  we  say  'the  South,'  let  us  be  sure  that  we 
know  what  we  mean.  There  are  two  Souths.  One  is  the 
slaveholding  aristocracy  and  their  slaves ;  the  other  is  the  com- 
mon people.  There  never  was  a  greater  absurdity  taught  than 
that  which  Northern  writers  and  newspapers  have  spread  to 
the  effect  that  in  the  South  there  is  no  middle  class.  The 
middle  class  is  the  South.  This  is  the  South  that  is  right 
and  wholesome  and  strong.  The  North  may  defeat  the  aris- 
tocracy of  the  South,  and  doubtless  will  defeat  it ;  but  never 
can  she  defeat  the  true  South,  because  the  principle  for  which 
the  true  South  fights  is  the  truth  —  at  least  the  germ  of  truth 
if  not  the  fulness  of  it. 


62  WHO  GOES  THERE? 

*'The  South  is  right  in  her  grand  desire  and  end;  she  is 
wrong  in  her  present  and  momentary  experiment  to  attain  that 
end.  So  also  the  North  is  right  in  her  desire,  and  wrong  in 
her  efforts. 

"  The  true  South  will  not  be  conquered ;  the  aristocracy 
only  will  go  down.  Nominally,  that  is  to  say  in  the  eyes  of 
unthinking  men,  the  North  will  conquer  the  South ;  but  your 
existing  armies  will  not  do  it.  The  Northern  idea  of  social 
freedom,  unconscious  and  undeveloped,  must  prevail  instead 
of  the  Southern  idea  of  individual  freedom  ;  but  how  prevail  ? 
By  means  of  bayonets  ?  No;  that  war  in  which  ideas  prevail 
is  not  fought  with  force.  Artillery  accomplishes  naught.  I 
can  fancy  a  battlefield  where  two  great  armies  are  drawn  up, 
and  the  soldiers  on  this  side  and  on  that  side  are  uniformed 
alike  and  their  flags  are  alike,  but  they  kill  each  other  till  none 
remains,  and  nothing  is  accomplished  except  destruction ;  yet 
the  principle  for  which  each  fought  remains,  though  all  are 
dead." 

For  a  time  I  was  speechless. 

At  length  I  asked,  "  But  why  do  you  imagine  their  uni- 
forms and  flags  alike  ?  " 

He  replied,  "  Because  flag  and  uniform  are  the  symbols  of 
their  cause,  and  the  real  cause,  or  end,  of  both,  is  identical." 

"  Doctor,"  I  began ;  but  my  fear  was  great  and  I  said  no 
more. 


IX 

KILLING   TIME 

"  Why,  then,  let's  on  our  way  in  silent  sort."  —  Shakespeare. 

Lydia  was  kept  busy  in  the  hospital;  her  evenings,  how- 
ever, were  spent  with  her  father. 

Before  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  began  to  arrive,  I  had 
recovered  all  my  old  vigour,  and  had  become  restless  through 
inaction.  Nobody  could  say  when  the  Eleventh  would  come. 
The  troops,  as  they  landed,  found  roomy  locations  for  their 
camps,  for  the  rebels  were  far  off  at  Yorktown,  and  with  only 
flying  parties  of  cavalry  patrolling  the  country  up  to  our 
pickets.  I  had  no  duty  to  do ;  but  for  the  Doctor's  company 
time  would  have  been  heavy  on  my  hands. 

About  the  last  of  March  the  army  had  reached  Newport 
News,  but  no  Eleventh.  What  to  do  with  myself?  The 
Doctor  would  not  move  his  camp  until  the  eve  of  battle,  and 
he  expressed  the  opinion  that  there  would  be  no  general  en- 
gagement until  we  advanced  much  nearer  to  Richmond. 

On  the  2d  of  April,  at  supper,  I  told  Dr.  Khayme  that 
I  was  willing  to  serve  in  the  ranks  of  any  company  until  the 
Eleventh  should  come. 

"  General  McClellan  has  come,  and  your  regiment  will  come 
in  a  few  days,"  he  replied ;  "  and  I  doubt  if  anybody  would 
want  you  ;  the  troops  now  here  are  more  than  are  needed, 
except  for  future  work.  Besides,  you  might  do  better.  You 
have  good  eyes,  and  a  good  memory  as  long  as  it  lasts ;  you 
might  make  a  secret  examination  of  the  Confederate  lines." 

"  A  what  ?      Oh,  you  mean  by  myself  ?  " 

<'Yes." 

63 


64  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

"  Do  you  think  it  practicable  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Should  I  have  suggested  it  if  I  do  not  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me,  Doctor ;  but  you  were  so  sudden." 

"Well,  think  of  it,"  said  he. 

"  Doctor,  if  you'll  put  me  in  the  way  to  do  it,  I'll  try  it ! " 
I  exclaimed,  for,  somehow,  such  work  had  always  fascinated 
me.  I  did  not  wish  to  become  a  spy,  or  to  act  as  one  for  a 
day  even,  but  I  liked  the  thought  of  creeping  through  woods 
and  swamps  and  learning  the  positions  and  movements  of  the 
enemy.  In  Charleston,  in  my  school  days,  and  afterward,  I 
had  read  Gilmore  Simms's  scouting  stories  with  eagerness, 
and  had  worshipped  his  Witherspoon. 

"  When  will  you  wish  to  begin  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 

"  Just  as  soon  as  possible ;  this  idleness  is  wearing ;  to-day, 
if  possible." 

'' I  cannot  let  you  go  before  to-morrow,"  said  he ;  "I  must 
try  to  send  you  off  properly." 

When  Lydia  came  in  that  night,  and  was  told  of  our  pur- 
poses by  the  Doctor,  I  fancied  that  she  became  more  serious 
instantly.  But  she  said  little,  and  I  could  only  infer  that  she 
might  be  creating  in  her  brain  false  dangers  for  a  friend. 

By  the  next  afternoon,  which  was  the  3d  of  April,  every- 
thing was  ready  for  me.  The  Doctor  showed  me  in  his  stores- 
tent  a  sober  suit  of  gray  clothes,  not  military  clothes,  but  of 
a  cut  that  might  deceive  the  eye  at  a  distance,  yet  when  closer 
seen  would  exonerate  the  wearer  from  any  suspicion  that  he 
was  seriously  offering  himself  as  a  Confederate. 

"  Now,  I  had  to  guess  at  it,"  said  the  Doctor ;  "  but  I  think 
it  will  fit  you  well  enough." 

It  did  fit  well  enough ;  it  was  loose  and  comfortable,  and, 
purposely,  had  been  soiled  somewhat  after  making.  The  Doc- 
tor gave  me  also  a  black  felt  hat. 

"  Have  you  studied  the  map  I  gave  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  can  remember  the  roads  and  streams  thoroughly," 
I  answered. 


KILLING   TIME  65 

"  Then  do  not  take  it ;  all  you  want  is  a  knife  and  a  few 
trivial  things  such  as  keys  in  your  pocket,  so  that  if  you  should 
be  searched  nothing  can  be  proved.  Leave  all  your  money  in 
bills  behind ;  coin  will  not  be  bad  to  take ;  here  are  a  few 
Confederate  notes  for  you." 

"  Do  I  need  a  pass  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  here  is  a  paper  that  may  hang  you  if  you  are  caught 
by  the  Confederates ;  use  it  to  go  through  your  lines,  and  then 
destroy  it ;  I  want  you  to  get  back  again.  If  you  should  be 
captured,  a  pass  would  betray  you ;  if  your  men  get  you  and 
will  not  let  you  go,  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  explain  at  head- 
quarters." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  already  explained  at  headquarters  ?  " 

"Don't  ask  questions.  Now  you  must  sit  down  and  eat; 
you  don't  know  when  you  will  get  another  meal." 

At  dusk  I  started.  My  purpose  was  to  avoid  our  own 
pickets  and  reach  before  dawn  a  point  opposite  the  right  of 
the  rebel  line,  which  was  believed  to  rest  on  James  River, 
near  or  at  Mulberry  Island,  or  Mulberry  Point ;  I  would  then 
watch  for  opportunities,  and  act  accordingly,  with  the  view  of 
following  up  the  rebel  line,  or  as  near  to  it  as  possible. 

I  took  no  gun  or  anything  whatever  to  burden  me.  I  was 
soon  outside  the  guard  line  of  the  camp.  My  way  at  first  was 
almost  due  north  by  the  Young's  Mill  road.  Darkness  quickly 
came,  and  I  was  glad  of  it.  The  stars  gave  me  enough  light. 
My  road  was  good,  level,  sandy  —  a  lane  between  two  rail 
fences  almost  hidden  with  vines  and  briers.  At  my  left  and 
behind  me  I  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  surf. 

When  I  had  gone  some  two  miles,  I  thought  I  heard  noises 
ahead.  I  stopped,  and  put  my  ear  to  the  ground.  Cavalry. 
Were  they  our  men,  or  rebels  ?  I  did  not  want  to  be  seen  by 
either.  I  slipped  into  a  fence  corner.  A  squad  rode  by,  going 
toward  Hampton,  no  doubt.  I  waited  until  they  had  passed 
out  of  sight,  and  then  rose  to  continue  my  tramp,  when  sud- 
denly, before  I  had  made  a  step,  another  horseman  rode  by, 


66  WHO   GOES  TIIERE  ? 

folloAving  the  others.  If  he  had  looked  in  my  direction,  he 
would  have  seen  me ;  but  he  passed  on  with  his  head  straight 
to  the  front.  I  supposed  that  this  last  man  was  on  duty  as  the 
rear  of  the  squad. 

Now  I  tore  up  my  pass  into  little  bits  and  tossed  them  away. 
The  party  of  cavalry  which  had  passed  me,  I  believed,  were  our 
patrol,  and  that  I  should  find  no  more  of  our  men ;  so  I  was 
now  extremely  cautious  in  going  forward,  not  knowing  how 
soon  I  might  run  against  some  scouting  party  of  the  rebels. 

The  road  soon  diverged  far  from  the  shore ;  the  ground 
was  sandy  and  mostly  level,  and  in  many  places  covered  with  a 
thick,  small  growth.  The  imperfect  light  gave  me  no  extended 
vision,  but  fram  studying  the  map  before  I  had  set  out  I  had 
j;ome  idea  of  the  general  character  of  the  country  at  my  right, 
as  well  as  a  pretty  accurate  notion  of  the  distance  I  must  make 
before  I  should  come  near  to  the  first  rebel  post ;  though,  of 
course,  I  could  not  know  that  such  post  had  not  been  aban- 
doned, or  advanced  even,  within  the  last  few  hours. 

I  went  on,  then,  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  to  right  and  left 
and  straight  ahead,  and  every  now  and  then  stopping  to  listen. 
]\ry  senses  were  alert ;  I  thought  of  nothing  but  my  present 
purposes ;  I  felt  that  I  was  alone  and  dependent  upon  myself, 
but  the  feeling  was  not  greatly  oppressive. 

Plaving  gone  some  four  or  five  miles,  I  saw  before  me  a 
fence  runuing  at  a  right  angle  to  the  road  I  was  on ;  this  fence 
was  not  continued  to  the  left  of  my  road,  so  I  supposed  that  at 
this  fence  was  the  junction  of  the  road  to  Little  Bethel,  and 
as  I  had  clearly  seen  before  I  started  that  at  this  junction 
there  was  danger  of  finding  a  rebel  outpost,  or  of  falling  upon 
a  rebel  scouting  party,  I  now  became  still  more  cautious,  mov- 
ing along  half  bent  on  the  edge  of  the  road,  and  at  last  creep- 
ing on  my  hands  and  knees  until  I  reached  the  junction. 

There  was  nobody  in  sight.  I  looked  long  up  the  road 
toward  Little  Bethel ;  I  went  a  hundred  yards  or  so  up  this 
road,  found  nothing,  and  returned  to  the  junction;  then  con- 


KILLING   TIME  67 

tinned  up  the  road  toward  Young's  Mill.  The  ground  here  I 
knew  must  be  visited  frequently  by  the  rebels,  and  my  atten- 
tion became  so  fixed  that  I  started  at  the  slightest  noise.  The 
sand's  crunching  under  my  feet  sounded  like  the  puffing  of  a 
locomotive.  The  wind  made  a  slight  rippling  with  the  ends 
of  the  tie  on  my  hat-band.  I  cut  the  ends  off,  to  be  relieved 
of  the  distraction. 

I  -was  going  at  the  rate  of  a  mile  a  day,  attending  to  my 
rear  as  well  as  to  my  advance,  when  I  heard,  seemingly  in  the 
road  to  Bethel,  at  my  rear  and  right,  the  sound  of  stamping 
hoofs.  I  slunk  into  a  fence  corner,  and  lay  perfectly  still, 
listening  with  all  ray  ears.  The  noise  increased ;  it  was  clear 
that  horsemen  from  the  Bethel  road  were  coming  into  the 
junction,  a  hundred  yards  in  my  rear. 

The  noises  ceased.     The  horsemen  had  come  to  a  halt. 

But  had  they  come  to  a  halt  ?  Perhaps  they  had  ridden 
down  the  road  toward  Newport  News. 

Five  minutes,  that  seemed  an  hour,  passed;  then  I  heard 
the  hoof-beats  of  advancing  cavalry,  and  all  at  once  a  man 
darted  into  my  fence  corner  and  lay  flat  and  still. 

It  is  said  that  at  some  moments  of  life,  and  particularly 
when  life  is  about  to  end,  as  in  drowning,  a  man  recalls  in  an 
instant  all  the  deeds  of  his  past.  This  may  or  may  not  be 
true ;  but  I  know,  at  least,  that  my  mind  had  many  thoughts  in 
the  situation  in  which  I  now  found  myself. 

I  felt  sure  that  the  party  advancing  on  the  road  behind  me 
were  rebels. 

They  were  now  but  a  few  yards  off. 

An  instant  more,  and  they  would  pass  me,  or  else  they  would 
discover  me. 

If  I  should  spring  to  my  feet  and  run  up  the  road,  the  horse- 
men would  ride  me  down  at  once. 

If  I  should  climb  the  fence,  my  form,  outlined  against  the 
sky,  would  be  a  mark  for  many  carl)ines. 

If  I  should  lie  still,  they  might  pass  without  seeing  me. 


68  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

But  what  could  I  expect  from  my  companion  ? 

Who  was  he  ?  .  .  .  Why  was  he  there  ?  .  .  .  Had  he  seen 
me  ?  .  .  .  Had  the  rebels,  if  indeed  they  were  rebels,  seen 
him  ?  ...  If  so,  were  they  pursuing  him  ? 

But  no ;  they  were  not  pursuing  him,  for  he  had  come  from 
the  direction  of  Young's  Mill.  He  would  have  met  the  horse- 
men had  he  not  hidden. 

If  I  could  but  know  that  he  had  seen  me,  my  plan  surely 
would  be  to  lie  still. 

Yes,  certainly,  to  lie  still  ...  if  these  riders  were  rebels. 

But  to  lie  still  if  my  companion  was  a  friend  to  the  rebels  ? 
If  he  was  one  of  theirs,  should  I  lie  still  ? 

No ;  certainly  not,  unless  I  preferred  being  taken  to  being 
shot  at. 

If  the  horsemen  were  Union  troops,  what  then  ?  Why,  in 
that  case,  my  unknown  friend  must  be  a  rebel ;  and  if  I  should 
decide  to  let  the  troops  pass,  I  should  be  left  unarmed,  with  a 
rebel  in  two  feet  of  me. 

Yet,  if  the  cavalry  were  our  men,  and  the  fugitive  a  rebel, 
still  the  question  remained  whether  he  had  seen  me. 

It  seemed  impossible  for  him  not  to  see  me.  Could  he  think 
I  was  a  log  ?  Certainly  not ;  there  was  no  reason  for  a  log  to 
be  in  such  a  place ;  there  were  no  trees  large  enough  and  near 
enough  to  justify  the  existence  of  a  log  in  this  place. 

All  these  thoughts,  and  more  also,  passed  through  my  mind 
while  the  horsemen  moved  ten  paces ;  and  before  they  had 
moved  ten  paces  more,  I  had  come  to  a  decision. 

I  had  decided  to  lie  still. 

There  could  be  but  one  hope :  if  I  should  run,  I  could  not 
get  away.  I  would  lie  still.  If  the  unknown  should  prove  to 
be  a  friend,  my  case  might  be  better  than  before ;  if  he  should 
prove  to  be  an  enemy,  I  must  act  prudently  and  try  to  befool 
him.  I  must  discover  his  intentions  before  making  mine 
known.     He,  also,  must  be  in  a  great  quandary. 

The  horsemen  passed.     They  passed  so  near  that  I  could 


KILLING  TIME  69 

have  told  whether  they  were  from  the  North  or  the  South  by 
their  voices,  but  they  did  not  speak. 

There  was  not  enough  light  for  me  to  see  their  uniforms, 
and,  indeed,  I  did  not  look  at  them,  but  instinctively  kept  my 
face  to  the  ground. 

The  horsemen  passed  on  up  the  road  toward  Young's  Mill. 

Now  there  was  silence.  I  yet  lay  motionless.  So  did  my 
companion,  I  was  right  in  one  thing :  he  knew  of  my  pres- 
ence, else  he  would  now  rise  and  go  his  way.  He  knew  of 
my  presence,  yet  he  did  not  speak  ;  what  was  the  matter  with 
him? 

But  why  did  not  I  speak  ?  I  concluded  that  he  was  fearing 
me,  just  as  I  was  fearing  him. 

But  why  should  he  fear  me,  when  he  could  not  doubt  that  I 
was  hiding  from  the  same  persons  whom  he  had  shunned  to 
meet? 

But  I  was  there  first ;  he  had  not  known  that  I  was  there ; 
his  hiding  in  a  fence  corner  was  deliberate,  in  order  to  escape 
the  observation  of  the  horsemen ;  his  hiding  in  this  particular 
fence  corner  was  an  accident. 

Who  is  he  ?  What  is  he  thinking  about,  that  he  doesn't  do 
something  ?     He  has  no  reason  to  fear  me. 

But  fear  has  no  reason.  If  he  is  overcome  with  fear,  he 
dreads  everything.  He  has  not  recovered  from  the  fright  the 
horsemen  gave  him. 

But  why  do  I  not  speak  ?  Am  I  so  overcome  with  fear  that 
I  cannot  speak  to  a  man  who  flees  and  hides  ?  I  will  speak  to 
him  — 

"  Mahsa,"  said  he,  humbly,  right  in  my  ear. 

I  sat  bolt  upright ;  so  did  he. 

"  Speak  low,"  said  I ;  "  tell  me  who  you  are." 

"  Who,  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you ;  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  My  name  Nick." 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 


70  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

"  Who,  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you ;  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"I'se  des'  a-restin',  mahsa;  I'se  mighty  tired." 

"  You  are  hiding  from  the  soldiers." 

"  What  sojers,  mahsa  ?  " 

Clearly  Nick  was  no  simpleton;  he  was  gaining  time;  he 
might  not  yet  know  which  side  I  belonged  to.  I  must  end  this 
matter.  The  night  was  cool.  I  had  no  blanket  or  overcoat. 
While  walking  I  had  been  warm,  but  now  I  was  getting 
chilly. 

Yet,  after  all,  suppose  Nick  was  not  a  friend.  However, 
such  a  supposition  was  heterodox ;  every  slave  must  desire  free- 
dom ;  a  slave  who  does  not  wish  to  be  free  is  an  impossibility. 

"  Who  were  the  soldiers  who  rode  by  just  now  ?  " 

"  I  dunno,  mahsa." 

"  Then  why  did  you  hide  from  them  ?  " 

"  Who,  me  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  why  did  you  run  and  hide  ?  " 

"  De  s'caze  I  dunno  who  dey  is." 

This  was  very  simple ;  but  it  did  not  relieve  the  complica- 
tion.    I  must  be  the  first  to  declare  myself. 

"Were  they  not  — "  I  checked  myself  in  time.  I  was  go- 
ing to  say  rebels,  but  thought  better  of  it ;  the  word  would 
declare  my  sympathies.     I  was  not  so  ready,  after  all. 

"  Wat  dat  yoii  gwine  to  say,  mahsa  ?  " 

Neither  was  Nick  ready  to  speak  first ;  he  was  a  quick-witted 
negro. 

"I  was  going  to  ask  if  they  were  Southern  soldiers." 

"  You  dunno  who  dey  is,  mahsa  ?  " 

Yes,  Nick  was  sharp ;  I  must  be  discreet  now,  and  wary  — 
more  so.  I  knew  that  many  Confederate  officers  had  favourite 
slaves  as  camp  servants,  slaves  whom  they  thought  so  attached 
to  them  as  to  be  trustworthy.  Who  could  know,  after  all,  that 
there  were  no  exceptions  amongst  slaves  ?  My  doubts  became 
so  keen  that  I  should  not  have  believed  Nick  on  his  oath.    He 


KILLING  TIIklE  71 

might  tell  me  a  lie  with  the  purpose  of  leading  me  into  a  rebel 
camp.     I  must  get  rid  of  him  somehow. 

"  Mahsa,"  said  Nick,  "  is  you  got  any  'bacco  ?  " 

"No,"  said  I;  then,  "yes,  I  have  some  smoking  tobacco." 

"Dat's  mighty  good  hitse'f ;  won't  you  please,  sa',  gimme  a 
little  ?  " 

I  was  not  a  smoker,  but  I  knew  that  there  was  a  little  loose 
tobacco  in  one  of  my  pockets ;  how  it  came  to  be  there  I  did 
not  know. 

"Thankee,  mahsa;  dis  'bacco  makes  me  bleeve  you  is  a — " 
Nick  hesitated. 

"  A  what  ?  " 

"  A  good  man,"  said  Nick. 

"  Nick,"  I  said,  "  I  want  to  go  up  the  road." 

"  Wat  fur  you  gwine  up  de  road,  mahsa  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  see  some  people  up  there." 

Nick  did  not  reply.  Could  he  fear  that  I  was  wanting  to 
take  him  into  the  Southern  lines  ?     It  looked  so. 

The  thought  almost  took  away  any  fear  I  yet  had  that  he 
might  betray  me.     His  hesitation  was  assuring. 

I  repeated,  "I  want  to  see  —  I  mean  I  want  to  look  at  — 
some  people  up  the  road." 

"Dem  sojers  went  up  the  road  des'  now,  mahsa." 

"  Do  you  think  they  will  come  back  soon  ?  " 

"  I  dunno,  mahsa ;  maybe  dey  will  en'  maybe  dey  won't." 

"  Didn't  you  come  from  up  the  road  ?  " 

"  Mahsa,  how  come  you  ain't  got  no  gun  ?  " 

This  threatened  to  be  a  home-thrust ;  but  I  managed  to  parry 
it,  and  to  give  him  as  good. 

"  Do  Southern  officers  carry  guns  ?  " 

"  You  Southern  officer,  mahsa  ?  " 

"  Southern  officers  carry  swords  and  pistols,"  said  I ;  "  didn't 
you  know  that,  Nick  ?  " 

"  Mahsa,"  said  Nick,  very  seriously. 

"What  is  it,  Nick?" 


72  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"  Mahsa,  fo'  God  you  ain't  no  Southern  officer." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so,  Nick  ?  " 

"  Gaze,  ef  you  was  a  Southern  officer  you  wouldn't  be  a-gwine 
on  lak  you  is ;  you  'ud  des'  say,  *  Nick,  you  dam  black  rascal, 
git  back  to  dem  breswucks  en'  to  dat  pick  en'  to  dat  spade  dam 
quick,  or  I'll  have  you  strung  up ; '  dat's  w'at  you'd  say." 

Unless  Nick  was  intentionally  fooling  me,  he  was  not  to  be 
feared.  He  was  willing  for  me  to  believe  that  he  had  run 
away  from  the  Confederates. 

"  But  suppose  I  don't  care  whether  you  get  back  or  not ; 
there  are  enough  niggers  working  on  the  fortifications  without 
you.  I'd  like  to  give  you  a  job  of  a  different  sort,"  said  I, 
temptingly. 

"  W'at  dat  job  you  talkin'  'bout,  mahsa  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  obey  my  orders  for  one  day." 

"  W'at  I  hatto  do,  mahsa  ?  " 

"  Go  up  the  road  with  me,"  said  I. 

Nick  was  silent ;  my  demand  did  not  please  him  ;  yet  if  he 
wanted  to  betray  me  to  the  rebels,  now  was  his  chance.  I 
interpreted  his  silence  to  mean  that  he  wanted  to  go  down  the 
road,  that  is  to  say,  that  he  wanted  to  make  his  way  to  the 
Union  army  and  to  freedom.  I  felt  so  sure  of  this  that  I 
should  not  have  been  surprised  if  he  had  suddenly  set  out  run- 
ning down  the  road ;  yet  I  supposed  that  he  was  still  in  doubt 
of  my  character  and  feared  a  pistol-shot  from  me.  He  was 
silent  so  long  that  I  fully  made  up  my  mind  that  I  could  trust 
him  a  little. 

"  Nick,"  said  I,  "  look  at  my  clothes.  I  am  neither  a  South- 
ern officer  nor  a  Northern  officer.  I  know  what  you  want :  you 
want  to  go  to  Fortress  Monroe.  You  shall  not  go  unless  you 
serve  me  first;  if  you  serve  me  well,  I  will  help  you  in 
return.  Go  with  me  for  one  day,  and  I'll  make  it  worth  your 
while." 

*'  W'at  you  want  me  to  go  wid  you  fer  ?  W'at  I  hatto 
do?" 


I 


KILLING  TIME  73 

"G-uide  me,"  said  I;  "show  me  the  way  to  the  breast- 
works ;  show  me  how  to  see  the  breastworks  and  not  be  seen 
myself." 

"Den  w'at  you  gwine  do  fer  me ?" 

It  amused  me  to  see  that  Nick  had  dropped  his  "mahsa." 
Did  he  think  it  out  of  place,  now  that  he  knew  I  was  not  a 
Southern  soldier  ? 

"  Nick,  I  will  give  you  a  dollar  for  your  day's  work  ;  then  I 
will  give  you  a  note  to  a  friend  of  mine,  and  the  note  will  bring 
you  another  dollar  and  a  chance  to  make  more." 

Nick  considered.  The  dollar  was  tempting  ;  as  to  the  note, 
the  sequel  showed  that  he  did  not  regard  it  of  any  importance. 
Finally,  he  said  that  if  I  would  make  it  two  dollars  he  would 
be  my  man.  I  felt  in  my  pockets,  and  found  about  four  dol- 
lars, I  thought,  and  at  once  closed  the  bargain. 

"  Now,  Nick,"  said  I,  "  here  is  a  dollar ;  go  with  me  and  be 
faithful,  and  I  will  give  you  another  before  dark  to-morrow." 

"  I  sho'  do  it,"  said  Nick,  heartily ;  "  now  w'at  I  hatto  do  ?  " 

"  Where  is  the  first  Confederate  post  ?  " 

"  You  mean  dem  Southern  sojers  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  mean  dem  dat's  de  fust  a-gwine  icp  de  road,  or  dem 
dat's  fust  a-comin'  down  de  road  ?  " 

"  The  nearest  to  us  in  this  direction,"  said  I,  pointing. 

"  Dey  is  'bout  half  a  mile  up  dis  road,"  said  Nick. 

"  Did  you  see  them  ?  " 

"  I  seed  'em  fo'  true,  but  dey  didn't  see  me." 

"  How  did  you  keep  them  from  seeing  you  ?  " 

"  I  tuck  to  de  bushes ;  ef  dey  see  me,  dey  string  me  up." 

"  How  long  ago  was  it  since  you  saw  them  ?  " 

"  Sence  sundown,"  said  Nick. 

"  When  did  you  leave  the  breastworks  ?  " 

"  Las'  night." 

"And  you  have  been  a  whole  day  and  night  getting 
here  ?  " 


74  AVHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

"  In  de  daytime  I  laid  up,"  said  Nick  ;  "  caze  I  dunno  w'en  I 
might  strak  up  wid  'em." 

"  How  far  have  you  come  in  all  ?  " 

"  'Bout  'leben  or  ten  mile,  I  reckon.  I  laid  up  in  de  Jim 
Kiber  swamp  all  day." 

"  Did  you  have  anything  to  eat  ?  " 

"  Yassa;  but  I  ain't  got  nothin'  now  no  mo'." 

"  Do  you  know  where  we  can  get  anything  to  eat  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Dat  I  don't ;  how  is  we  a-gwine  to  hole  out  widout  sum'hm 
to  eat  ?  " 

"  We  must  risk  it.     I  hope  we  shall  not  suffer." 

"  Dis  country  ain't  got  nothin'  in  it,"  said  ISTick  ;  "  de  folks 
is  almos'  all  done  gone  to  Richmon'  er  summers  ^  en'  I  don't 
know  w'at  we's  a-gwine  to  do ;  I  don't.  I  don't  know  w'at 
we's  a-gwine  to  do  fer  sum'hm  to  eat.  And  I  don't  know  w'at 
I's  a-gwine  to  do  fer  'bacco  nudda." 

"  Well,  Nick,  I  can  give  you  a  little  more  tobacco ;  but  I 
expect  you  to  find  something  to  eat ;  if  you  can  find  it,  I  will 
pay  for  it." 

We  were  wasting  time ;  I  wanted  to  make  a  start. 

"  Now,  Nick,"  said  I ;  "  I  want  to  go  to  Young's  Mill,  or  as 
near  it  as  1  can  get  without  being  seen." 

"  Dat  all  you  want  to  do  ?  "  asked  Nick. 

"  No ;  I  want  to  do  that  first ;  then  I  want  to  see  the  breast- 
works.    First,  I  want  to  go  to  Young's  Mill." 

"  W'ich  Young's  Mill  ?  "  asked  Nick ;  "  dey  is  two  of  'em." 

"Two?" 

"  Yassa ;  one  Young's  Mill  is  by  de  chu'ch  on  de  Worrick 
road ;  de  yudda  one  is  de  ole  Young's  Mill  f udda  down  on  de 
creek." 

"  I  want  the  one  on  the  Warwick  road,"  said  I. 

"Den  dat's  all  right,"  said  Nick;  "all  you  got  to  do  is  to 
keep  dis  straight  road." 

"  But  we  must  not  show  ourselves,"  said  I. 

1  Somewhere  [Ed.]. 


KILLING  TIME  75 

"  Don't  you  fret  about  dat ;  I  don't  want  nobody  to  see  me 
nudda;  des'  you  follow  me." 

Nick  left  the  road,  I  following.  We  went  northeast  for  half 
a  mile,  then  northwest  for  a  mile  or  more,  and  found  ourselves 
in  the  road  again. 

''Now  we's  done  got  aroun'  'em,"  said  Nick;  "we's  done  got 
aroun'  de  fust  ones ;  we's  done  got  aroun'  'em ;  dis  is  twicet 
I's  done  got  aroun'  'em,  'en  w'en  I  come  back  I's  got  to  git 
aroun'  'em  agin." 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Young's  Mill,  Nick  ?  " 

"  I  'spec'  hit's  'bout  f o'  mile,"  said  Nick. 

We  were  now  within  the  rebel  lines,  and  my  capture  might 
mean  death.  We  went  on,  always  keeping  out  of  the  road. 
Nick  led  the  way  at  a  rapid  and  long  stride,  and  I  had  diffi- 
culty in  keeping  him  in  sight.  The  night  was  getting  cold, 
but  the  walk  heated  me.  Here  and  there  were  dense  clumps 
of  small  trees ;  at  the  little  watercourses .  there  was  larger 
grovrth.  The  roar  of  the  sea  was  heard  no  longer.  It  must 
have  been  about  midnight. 

We  came  upon  swampy  ground;  just  beyond  it  a  road 
crossed  ours. 

"  Stop  a  little,  Nick,"  said  I. 

Nick  came  to  a  halt,  and  we  talked  in  low  tones ;  we  could 
see  a  hundred  yards  in  every  direction. 

"  Where  does  that  road  go  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Dat  road,"  said  Nick,  pointing  to  the  left;  "hit  goes  to  ole 
Young's  Mill." 

"  How  far  is  old  Young's  Mill  ?  " 

"  I  dunno  ezackly ;  I  reckon  'bout  fo'  mile." 

"  Where  does  the  right-hand  lead  ?  " 

"Hit  goes  to  Mis  Cheeseman's,"  said  Nick;  "en'  at  Mis 
Cheeseman's  dey  is  calvry,  en'  at  ole  Young's  Mill  dey  is  cal- 
vry,  but  dey  is  on  de  yudda  side  o'  de  creek." 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Mrs.  Cheeseman's  ?  " 

"  I  dunno  ezackly ;  I  reckon  'bout  fo'  mile." 


76  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

We  went  on.  Tlie  ground  was  again  swampy.  We  came  to 
a  road  running  almost  west ;  a  church  stood  on  the  other  side 
of  the  road. 

"  Dat's  Danby  Chu'ch,"  said  Nick,  "  en'  dat  road  hit  goes  to 
Worrick." 

"  And  where  does  the  right-hand  lead  ?  " 

"  Hit  goes  to  Mis  Cheeseman's,"  said  Nick. 

"  And  where  is  Young's  Mill  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Hit's  right  on  dis  same  road  we's  on,  en-  not  fur  off, 
nudda." 

We  had  now  almost  reached  my  first  objective.  I  knew 
that  Nick  was  telling  me  the  truth,  in  the  main,  for  the  plan 
of  the  map  was  still  before  my  mind's  eye. 

"  Can  we  get  around  Young's  Mill  without  being  seen  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Dey's  a  picket-line  dis  side,"  said  Nick. 

'*  How  far  this  side  ?  " 

"  'Bout  a  quauta'  en'  a  ha'f  a  quanta.' " 

"  How  near  can  we  get  to  the  picket-line  ?  " 

"We  kin  git  mos'  up  to  'em,  caze  dey's  got  de  trees  cut 
down." 

"  The  trees  cut  down  in  their  front  ?  " 

"  Yassa ;  dey's  got  mos'  all  de  trees  cut  down,  so  dey  is." 

"  And  we  can  get  to  this  edge  of  the  felled  timber  ?  " 

"  Yassa ;  we  kin  git  to  de  failed  timba',  but  we's  got  to  go 
roun'  de  pon'." 

"  And  if  we  go  around  the  pond  first,  we  shall  then  find  the 
picket-line  ?  " 

"  De  picket-line  at  Young's  Mill  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Ef  we  gits  roun'  de  pon',  we'll  be  done  got  roun'  de  picket- 
line,  en'  de  trees  w'at  dey  cut  down,  en'  Young's  Mill,  en' 
all." 

"  Well,  then,  Nick,  lead  the  way  around  the  pond,  and  keep 
your  eyes  wide  open." 


KILLING   TIME  77 

Nick  went  forward  again,  but  more  slowly  for  a  while ;  then 
he  turned  to  the  right,  through  the  woods.  We  went  a  long 
distance  and  crossed  a  creek  on  a  fallen  log.  I  found  that 
this  negro  could  see  in  the  darkness  a  great  deal  better  than 
I  could ;  where  I  should  have  groped  my  way,  had  I  been 
alone,  he  went  boldly  enough,  putting  his  foot  down  fiat  as 
though  he  could  see  where  he  was  stepping.  Nick  said  that 
there  were  no  soldiers  in  these  woods  and  swamps  ;  they  were 
all  on  the  road  and  at  Young's  Mill,  now  a  mile  at  our  left. 

At  length  we  reached  the  road  again.  By  this  time  I  was 
very  tired,  but,  not  wanting  to  confess  it,  I  said  to  Nick  that 
we  should  wait  by  the  side  of  the  road  for  a  while,  to  see  if 
any  soldiers  should  pass.  We  sat  in  the  bushes ;  soon  Nick 
was  on  his  back,  asleep,  and  I  was  not  sorry  to  see  him  go  to 
sleep  so  quickly,  for  I  felt  sure  that  he  would  not  have  done 
so  if  he  had  meant  to  betray  me. 

I  kept  awake.  Only  once  did  I  see  anything  alarming.  A 
single  horseman  came  down  the  road  at  a  leisurely  trot,  and 
passed  on,  his  sabre  rattling  by  his  side.  When  the  sound  of 
the  horse's  hoofs  had  died  away,  I  aroused  Nick,  and  we  con- 
tinued west  up  the  road.     At  last  Nick  stopped. 

"What's  the  matter  now,  Nick?  "  I  whispered. 

"  We's  mos'  up  on  dem  pickets  ag'in,"  he  said. 

"  Again  ?     Have  we  gone  wrong  ?  " 

"  We  ain't  gone  wrong  —  but  we's  mos'  up  on  dem  pickets 
ag'in,"  he  repeated. 

"  Where  are  we  ?  " 

"  We's  gittin'  mos'  to  Worrick ;  ef  we  gits  up  to  de  place, 
den  w'at  you  gwine  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  stay  there  till  daylight,  so  that  I  can  see  them 
and  know  how  many  they  are." 

"  Den  w'at  you  gwine  to  do  ?  " 

*'  Then  I  want  to  follow  their  line  as  near  as  I  can,  going 
toward  Yorktown." 

"  Den  all  I  got  to  say  is  dat  hit's  mighty  cole  to  be  a-layin' 


78  WHO  GOES  THERE? 

out  in  de  woods  widout  no  fiah  en'  widout  no  kiver  en'  wid- 
out  notli'n'  to  eat." 

''  That's  true,  Nick ;  do  you  know  of  any  place  wliere  we 
could  get  an  hour  or  two  of  sleep  without  freezing  ?  " 

"Dat's  des'  w'at  I  was  a-gwine  to  say;  fo'  God  it  was;  ef 
dat's  w'at  you  gwiue  to  do,  come  on." 

He  led  the  way  again,  going  to  the  left.  We  passed  through 
woods,  then  a  field,  and  came  to  a  farmhouse. 

"  Hold  on,  Nick,"  said  I ;  "it  won't  do  to  go  up  to  that 
house." 

*•'  Dey  ain't  nobody  dah,"  said  Nick ;  "  all  done  runned  off 
to  Hichmon'  er  summers." 

The  fences  were  gone,  and  a  general  air  of  desolation  marked 
the  place. 

Nick  went  into  an  outhouse  —  a  stable  with  a  loft  —  and 
climbed  up  into  the  loft.  I  climbed  up  after  him.  There 
was  a  little  loose  hay  in  the  loft ;  we  speedily  stretched  our- 
selves. I  made  Nick  promise  to  be  awake  before  sunrise,  for 
I  feared  the  place  would  be  visited  by  the  rebels. 


THE    LINE    OF    THE    WARWICK 

"  Thus  are  poor  servitors, 
While  others  sleep  upon  their  quiet  beds, 
Constrained  to  watch  in  darkness,  rain,  and  cold." 

—  Shakespeare. 

When  I  lay  down  I  was  warm  from  walking,  and  went  to 
sleep  quickly.  When  I  awoke  I  was  cold ;  in  fact,  the  cold 
woke  me. 

I  crept  to  the  door  of  the  stable  and  looked  out ;  at  my  left 
the  sky  was  reddening.  I  aroused  Nick,  who  might  have  slept 
on  for  hours  had  he  been  alone. 

The  sun  would  soon  warm  us ;  but  what  were  we  to  do  for 
food?  Useless  to  search  the  house  or  kitchen  or  garden; 
everything  was  bare.  I  asked  Nick  if  he  could  manage  in 
any  way  to  get  something  to  eat.  He  could  not;  we  must 
starve  unless  accident  should  throw  food  in  our  way. 

A  flock  of  wild  geese,  going  north,  passed  high.  "  Dey'll  go 
a  long  ways  to-day,"  said  Nick  ;  "  ain't  got  to  stop  to  take  on 
no  wood  nor  no  water." 

We  bent  our  way  toward  the  Warwick  road.  At  the  point 
where  we  reached  it,  the  ground  was  low  and  wet,  but  farther 
on  we  could  see  dryer  ground.  We  crossed  the  road  and  went 
to  the  low  hills.  From  a  tree  I  could  see  the  village  of  War- 
wick about  a  mile  or  so  to  the  west,  with  the  road,  in  places, 
running  east.  There  seemed  to  be  no  movement  going  on. 
Nick  was  lying  on  the  ground,  moody  and  silent.     I  had  no 

more  tobacco. 

79 


80  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

I  came  down  from  the  tree  and  told  Kick  to  lead  the  way 
through  the  woods  until  we  could  get  near  the  rebel  pickets 
where  their  line  crossed  the  road. 

About  nine  o'clock  we  were  lying  in  the  bushes  near  the 
edge  of  felled  timber,  through  an  opening  in  which  ran  the 
road  at  our  left.  At  long  intervals  a  man  would  pass  across 
the  road  where  it  struck  the  picket-line. 

Both  from  the  map  and  from  Nick's  imperfect  delivery  of 
his  topographical  knowledge  I  was  convinced  that  the  main 
rebel  line  was  behind  the  Warwick  River,  and  that  here  was 
nothing  but  an  outpost;  and  I  was  considering  whether  it 
would  not  be  best  to  turn  this  position  on  the  north,  reach  the 
river  as  rapidly  as  possible,  and  make  for  Lee's  Mill,  which  I 
understood  was  the  rebel  salient,  and  see  what  was  above  that 
point,  when  I  heard  galloping  in  the  road  behind  us.  Nick 
had  heard  the  noise  before  it  reached  my  ears. 

A  rebel  horseman  dashed  by ;  at  the  picket-line  he  stopped, 
and  remained  a  few  moments  without  dismounting ;  then  went 
on  up  the  road  toward  Warwick  Court-House. 

At  once  there  was  great  commotion  on  the  picket-line.  We 
crept  up  as  near  as  we  dared;  men  were  hurrying  about,  get- 
ting their  knapsacks  and  falling  into  ranks.  Now  came  a 
squadron  of  cavalry  from  down  the  road ;  they  passed  through 
the  picket-line,  and  were  soon  lost  to  sight.  Then  the  picket 
marched  off  up  the  road.  Ten  minutes  more  and  half  a  dozen 
cavalrymen  came  —  the  rear-guard  of  all,  I  was  hoping  —  and 
passed  on. 

The  picket  post  now  seemed  deserted.  Partly  with  the 
intention  of  getting  nearer  the  river,  but  more,  I  confess,  with 
the  hope  of  appeasing  hunger,  Nick  and  I  now  cautiously 
approached  the  abandoned  line.  We  were  afraid  to  show  our- 
selves in  the  road,  so  we  crawled  through  the  felled  timber. 

The  camp  was  entirely  deserted.  Scattered  here  and  there 
over  the  ground  were  the  remains  of  straw  beds ;  some  brush 
arbours  —  improvised    shelters  —  were    standing;    we    found 


THE   LINE   OF  THE   WARWICX  81 

enough  broken  pieces  of  hardtack  to  relieve  our  most  pressing 
want. 

I  followed  the  line  of  felled  timber  to  the  north ;  it  ended 
within  two  hundred  yards  of  the  road. 

"Nick,"  said  I;  "what  is  between  us  and  the  river  in  this 
direction  ?  "  pointing  northwest. 

"Noth'n'  but  woods  tell  you  git  down  in  de  bottom,"  said 
Nick. 

"  And  the  bottom,  is  it  cultivated  ?     Is  it  a  field  ?  " 

"  Yassa ;  some  of  it  is,  but  mos'  of  it  ain't." 

"  Are  there  any  more  soldiers  on  this  side  of  the  river  ?  " 

"  You  mean  'long  here  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  I  dunno  ezackly ;  I  reckon  dey  is  all  gone  now ;  but 
dey  is  some  mo'  up  on  dis  side,  up  higher,  up  on  de  upper  head 
o'  de  riber,  whah  Lee's  Mill  is." 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Lee's  Mill  ?  " 

"  Hit's  mos'  fo'  mile." 

"  How  deep  is  the  river  above  Lee's  Mill  ?  " 

"  Riber  is  deep  down  below  de  mill." 

"  Is  the  river  deep  here  ?  "  pointing  west. 

"  Yassa ;  de  tide  comes  up  to  Lee's  Mill." 

"  Are  there  no  Southern  soldiers  below  Lee's  Mill  ?  " 

"  Dey  goes  down  dat-away  sometimes." 

"  Are  there  any  breastworks  below  Lee's  Mill  ?  " 

"  Down  at  de  mill  de  breswucks  straks  off  to  de  Jim  Riber 
up  at  de  Pint." 

"  Up  at  what  Point  ?  " 

"  Up  at  de  Mulberry  Pint." 

"And  right  across  the  river  here,  there  are  no  breast- 
works ?  " 

"No,  sa' ;  dey  ain't  no  use  to  have  'em  dah." 

Feeling  confident  that  the  movements  I  had  seen  indicated 
the  withdrawal  of  at  least  some  of  tl^e  rebel  outposts  to  their 
main  line  beyond  the  Warv/ick,  and  that  I  could  easily  and 


82  WHO   GOES   THERE  ? 

alone  reach  the  river  and  follow  it  up  —  since  the  rebel  line 
was  on  its  other  bank  or  beyond  —  I  decided  to  let  Nick  go. 

"  Nick,"  said  I ;  '*  I  don't  believe  I  shall  need  you  any  more 
now." 

"  You  not  a-gwine  to  gimme  dat  yudda  dolla'  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  of  course  I  shall  pay  you,  especially  if  you  will 
attend  closely  to  what  I  tell  you ;  you  are  to  serve  me  till 
night,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yassa." 

"  Well,  I  want  you  to  go  to  the  Union  army  at  Newport 
News  for  me.     Will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Yassa." 

"  Now,  Nick,  you  must  look  sharp  on  the  road  and  not  let 
the  rebels  catch  you." 

"  I  sho'  look  sharp,"  said  Nick. 

"  And  look  sharp  for  the  Union  army,  too ;  I  hope  you  will 
meet  some  Union  soldiers ;  then  you  will  be  safe." 

"  I  sho'  look  sharp,"  said  Nick. 

"  I  want  you  to  carry  a  note  for  me  to  the  Union  soldiers." 

"  Yassa." 

I  wrote  one  word  on  a  scrap  of  paper  that  I  had  picked  up 
in  the  rebel  camp.     I  gave  the  paper  to  Nick. 

"Throw  this  paper  away  if  you  meet  any  rebels;  under- 
stand ?  " 

"  Yassa." 

"  When  you  meet  Union  soldiers,  you  must  give  this  paper  to 
the  cajjtain." 

"  Yassa." 

"  The  captain  will  ask  you  what  this  paper  means,  and  you 
must  tell  him  that  the  Southern  soldiers  are  leaving  Warwick 
Court-House,  and  that  the  paper  is  to  let  him  know  it." 

"  Yassa ;  I  sho'  do  it ;  I  won't  do  noth'n'  but  look  sharp,  en' 
I  won't  do  noth'n'  but  give  dis  paper  to  de  cap'n." 

"Then  here  is  your  other  dollar,  Nick.  Good-by  and  good 
luck  to  you." 


THE   LINE   OE  THE   WAKWICK  83 

Nick  started  off  at  once,  and  I  was  alone  again. 

My  next  objective  was  Lee's  Mill,  whicti  I  knew  was  on  the 
Warwick  Kiver  some  three  miles  above.  Without  iSTick  to  help 
my  wits,  my  cautiousness  increased,  although  I  expected  to  find 
no  enemy  until  I  was  near  the  mill.  I  went  first  as  nearly 
westward  as  I  could  know ;  my  purposes  were  to  reach  the 
river  and  roughly  ascertain  its  width  and  depth ;  if  it  should 
be,  as  Nick  had  declared,  unfordable  in  these  parts,  its  depth 
would  be  sufficient  protection  to  the  rebels  behind  it,  and  I 
would  waste  no  time  in  examining  its  course  here.  Through 
the  undergrowth  I  crept,  sometimes  on  my  hands  and  knees, 
and  whenever  I  saw  an  opening  in  the  woods  before  me,  I 
paused  long  and  looked  well  before  either  crossing  or  flanking 
it.  After  a  while  I  reached  heavy  timber  in  the  low  ground, 
which  I  supposed  lay  along  the  river.  At  my  left  was  a  cleared 
field,  unplanted  as  yet,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  field  a  dwell- 
ing ^Yith  outhouses.  I  approached  the  house,  screening  myself 
behind  a  rail  fence.  The  house  was  deserted.  I  passed  through 
the  yard.  There  was  no  sign  of  any  living  thing,  except  a  pig 
which  scampered  away  with  a  loud  snort  of  disapproval.  The 
house  was  open,  but  I  did  not  enter  it ;  the  windows  were 
broken,  and  a  mere  glance  showed  me  that  the  place  had  been 
stripped. 

Again  I  plunged  into  the  woods,  and  went  rapidly  toward 
the  river,  for  I  began  to  fear  that  I  had  been  rash  in  coming 
through  the  open.  Soon  I  struck  the  river,  which  here  bent 
in  a  long  curve  across  the  line  of  my  march.  The  river  was 
wide  and  deep. 

At  once  I  felt  confidence  in  Nick's  declarations.  There 
could  be  little  need  for  Confederate  fortifications  upon  the 
other  side  of  this  unfordable  stream. 

It  must  have  been  about  noon ;  I  thought  I  heard  firing  far 
to  my  rear,  and  wondered  what  could  be  going  on  back  there. 

Leaving  the  river,  I  directed  my  steps  toward  the  northeast. 
So  long  as  I  was  in  the  woods  I  went  as  rapidly  as  I  could 


84  WHO   GOES  THEKE  ? 

walk,  and  the  country,  even  away  from  the  river,  was  much 
wooded.  My  knowledge  of  the  map  placed  Lee's  Mill  north- 
east of  Warwick,  and  northeast  I  went,  but  for  fully  three 
hours  I  kept  on  and  found  no  river  again.  I  felt  sure  that  I 
had  leaned  too  far  to  the  east,  and  was  about  to  turn  square  to 
my  left  and  seek  the  river,  when  I  saw  before  me  a  smaller 
stream  flowing  westward.  I  did  not  understand.  I  knew  that 
I  had  come  a  much  greater  distance  than  three  miles ;  I  had 
crossed  two  large  roads  running  north;  this  stream  was  not 
down  on  the  map.  Suddenly  the  truth  was  seen ;  this  stream 
was  the  Warwick  itself,  and  above  Lee's  Mill;  here  it  was 
small,  as  Nick  had  intimated. 

1  turned  westward ;  I  had  come  too  far ;  there  must  be  a 
great  angle  in  the  river  below  me,  and  that  angle  must  be  at 
Lee's  Mill. 

Not  more  than  a  hundred  yards  down  the  stream  there  was 
a  dam,  seemingly  a  new  dam  made  of  logs  and  earth.  At 
the  time  I  could  not  understand  why  it  was  there.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  water,  which  seemed  to  be  deep,  though  nar- 
row, I  could  hear  a  drum  beating.  A  road,  a  narrow  country 
road,  ran  seemingly  straight  into  the  water.  Only  a  few  steps 
to  my  left  there  was  an  elbow  of  the  road.  I  moved  to  this 
elbow,  keeping  in  the  bushes,  and  looked  down  on  the  water. 
There  was  no  sign  of  a  ferry ;  I  could  see  the  road  where  it 
left  the  water  on  the  other  side,  and  I  could  see  men  passing 
back  and  forth  across  the  road  some  two  or  three  hundred 
yards  away. 

Eor  a  long  time  I  racked  my  brains  before  I  understood  the 
meaning  of  this  road's  going  into  deep  water.  What  could 
it  mean  ?  Certainly  there  was  a  reason  for  it,  and  a  strong 
reason.  The  ordinary  needs  of  the  country  would  require 
a  ferry,  and  there  was  no  ferry.  I  had  looked  long  and  closely, 
and  was  sure  there  was  no  ferry,  and  was  almost  as  sure  that 
there  never  had  been  one.  The  road  before  my  eyes  was  un- 
travelled ;  the  ruts  were  weeks  old,  without  the  sign  of  a  fresh 


THE   LINE   OF   THE   WARWICK  85 

track  since  the  last  rains ;  the  road  was  not  now  used,  that 
was  a  certainty. 

When  was  this  road  used?  .  .  .  The  whole  situation 
became  clear ;  the  road  had  been  a  good  road  before  the  rebels 
came ;  when  they  fortified  their  lines  they  rendered  the  road 
useless.     They  destroyed  the  ford  by  building  the  dam  below. 

I  made  my  way  down  the  stream,  little  elated  at  my  solu- 
tion of  what  at  first  had  seemed  a  mystery,  for  I  felt  that 
Nick  would  have  told  me  offhand  all  about  it. 

In  less  than  a  mile  I  came  to  another  road  running  into 
deep  water.  Now,  thought  I,  if  my  solution  is  correct,  we 
shall  shortly  see  another  dam,  and  it  was  not  five  minutes 
before  I  came  in  sight  of  the  second  dam. 

I  climbed  a  tree  near  by ;  I  could  see  portions  of  a  line  of 
earthworks  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  The  line  of  works 
seemed  nearly  straight,  at  least  much  more  nearly  so  than  the 
river  was.  To  attack  the  Confederate  lines  here  would  be 
absurd,  unless  our  troops  could  first  destroy  the  dams  and  find 
an  easy  crossing. 

By  this  time  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  had  passed,  and  I 
was  famishing.  I  believed  it  impossible  that  I  should  be  able 
to  get  any  food,  and  the  thought  made  me  still  hungrier ;  yet 
I  cast  about  me  to  see  if  there  was  any  way  to  get  relief.  I 
blamed  myself  for  not  having  brought  food  from  camp.  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  remain  this  night  near  the  river,  as  I 
could  not  get  back  to  camp,  seeing  that  my  work  was  not  yet 
done,  until  the  next  day;  so  I  must  expect  many  hours  of 
sharp  hunger  unless  I  could  find  food. 

I  now  felt  convinced  that  on  the  rebel  left  there  was  a  con- 
tinuous line  of  works  behind  the  Warwick,  from  Lee's  Mill 
up  to  Yorktown,  and  all  I  cared  to  prove  was  whether  that 
line  had  its  angle  at  the  former  place,  as  Nick  had  declared, 
and  as  seemed  reasonable  to  me  from  every  consideration. 
I  would,  then,  make  my  way  carefully  down  the  river  to 
Lee's  Mill,  and  if  possible  finish  my  work  before  sunset ;  but 


86  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

my  hunger  was  so  great  that  I  thought  it  advisable  to  first 
seek  food.  So,  deferring  my  fartlier  progress  down  the 
stream,  I  set  out  in  an  easterly  direction  by  the  road  which 
had  crossed  previously  above  the  second  dam,  in  the  hope  that 
this  road  would  lead  me  to  some  house  where  help  could  be 
found,  for  I  was  now  getting  where  risks  must  be  run ;  food 
was  my  first  need. 

However,  I  did  not  expose  myself,  but  kept  out  of  the  road, 
walking  through  the  woods.  My  road  was  soon  enlarged  by 
another  road  joining  it,  coming  in  from  the  north  and  seeming 
well  worn  from  recent  use.  I  had  been  walking  for  nearly 
a  mile  when  I  heard  a  noise  behind  me  —  clearly  tlie  noise 
of  horses  coming.  I  lay  flat  behind  a  bush  which  grew  by  a 
fallen  tree.  Three  horsemen  —  rebels  —  passed,  going  south- 
ward. They  passed  at  a  walk,  and  were  talking,  but  their 
words  could  not  be  distinguished.  The  middle  man  was  rid- 
ing a  gray  horse. 

About  half  a  mile,  or  perhaps  less,  farther  on,  the  woods 
became  less  dense,  and  soon  I  came  to  a  clearing ;  in  this  clear- 
ing was  what  the  Southern  people  call  a  settlement,  which 
consisted  of  a  small  farmhouse  with  a  few  necessary  out- 
buildings. 

Hitched  to  the  straight  rail  fence  that  separated  the  house 
yard  from  the  road,  were  three  horses,  one  of  them  gray,  with 
saddles  on  their  backs.  I  was  not  more  than  fifty  yards  dis- 
tant from  the  horses,  and  could  plainly  see  a  holster  in  front 
of  one  of  the  saddles. 

No  sound  came  froni  the  house.  I  lay  down  and  watched 
and  listened.  The  evening  was  fast  drawing  on,  and  there  were 
clouds  in  the  west,  but  the  sun  had  not  yet  gone  down,  and 
there  would  yet  be  an  hour  or  two  of  daylight.  I  feared  that 
my  approach  to  Lee's  Mill  must  be  put  off  till  the  morrow. 

A  woman  came  out  of  the  house  and  drew  a  bucket  of  water 
at  the  well  in  the  yard.  She  then  returned  into  the  house, 
with  her  pail  of  water.     Now  the  sound  of  men's  voices  could 


THE   LINE   OF  THE   WARWICK  87 

be  heard,  and  the  stamping  of  heavy  feet  within  the  house  ; 
a  moment  afterward  three  men  came  out  and  approached  the 
horses. 

The  woman  was  standing  at  the  door;  one  of  the  men 
shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand  and  looked  toward  the  west, 
where  a  dazzling  cloud-edge  barely  hid  the  sun  from  view. 
He  was  looking  directly  over  my  head ;  dropping  his  hand  he 
said,  "  An  hour  high,  yit."  This  man  was  nearer  to  me  than 
the  others  were.  I  could  less  distinctly  hear  the  words  of  the 
others,  but  when  the  men  got  near  their  horses  a  conversation 
was  held  with  the  woman  standing  in  the  doorway,  and  the 
voices  on  both  sides  were  raised. 

"Yes,"  said  one  of  the  men,  preparing  to  mount  the  gray 
horse ;  "  yes,  I  reckin  this  is  the  last  time  we'll  trouble  you 
any  more." 

"  Your  room's  better'n  your  company,"  said  the  woman, 
whose  words,  by  reason  of  her  shrill  voice,  as  well  as  because 
she  was  talking  toward  me,  were  more  distinctly  heard  than 
the  man's. 

"Now  don't  be  ongrateful,"  said  the  man,  who  by  this  time 
was  astride  his  horse ;  "  you've  not  lost  anything  by  me.  If 
the  Yanks  treat  you  as  well  as  us,  you  may  thank  your  God." 

"  Self-praise  is  half  scandal,"  said  the  woman ;  "  I'm  willin' 
to  resk  'em  ef  God  sends  'em." 

The  man,  turning  his  horse  and  riding  after  his  two  compan- 
ions, shouted  back :  "  Hit's  not  God  as  is  a  sendin'  em ;  hit's 
somebody  else ! " 

"  You  seem  to  be  mighty  well  acquainted !  "  fired  the  woman, 
as  a  parting  shot. 

When  the  man  had  overtaken  his  comrades  at  the  turning  of 
the  road,  I  had  but  little  reluctance  in  going  into  the  house. 
The  woman  stared  at  me.  My  gray  civilian  clothes  caught  her 
eye ;  evidently  she  did  not  know  what  to  think  of  me.  She 
said  nothing,  and  stood  her  ground  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

I  first  asked  for  a  drink  of  water ;  she  pointed  to  the  bucket. 


88  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

in  which  there  was  a  common  gourd  for  a  dipper.  I  quenched 
my  thirst ;  then  I  said,  "  Madam,  I  will  pay  you  well  if  you 
will  let  me  have  what  cold  food  you  have  in  the  house." 

"  Did  you  see  them  men  a-ridin'  away  from  here  jest  now  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  I  heard  some  voices,"  said  I ;  "  who  were  they  ?  " 

"  They  was  some  of  our  men ;  three  of  'em  ;  they  et  up  most 
ev'ything  I  had,  so  I  hain't  got  much." 

"  See  what  there  is,"  said  I,  "  and  please  be  as  quick  as  you 
can." 

She  went  into  another  room,  and  speedily  returned  with  a 
"  pone  "  of  corn-bread. 

"  This  is  all  they  is,"  she  said. 

"  Have  you  no  potatoes  ?  no  bacon  ?  " 

a  I've  got  some  bacon,"  she  said ;  *•  but  it  ain't  cooked." 

"  Let  me  have  a  pound  or  two,  anyway,"  said  I. 

She  brought  out  a  large  piece  of  bacon.  "My  ole  man's 
gone  down  to  Worrick  to-day,"  she  said,  "  an'  won't  be  back 
tell  night ;  an'  you  soldiers,  a-leavin'  the  country  all  at  oncet, 
hit  makes  me  feel  kinder  skittish." 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  "  I  don't  wonder  at  your  alarm,  for  they  say 
the  Yankees  are  coming.  I  don't  suppose  they  will  be  here 
before  to-morrow,  though  —  maybe  not  till  the  day  after." 

"  Them  other  men  said  they  was  the  last  to  go,"  she  replied; 
"  but  I  reckin  they  didn't  know  you  was  a-comin'  on  behind 
'em." 

" Xo,"  said  I ;  "if  they  had  known  I  was  coming,  they 
wouldn't  have  run  off  and  left  me  so;  I  might  have  ridden 
behind  one  of  them.  I  don't  suppose  I  can  overtake  them  now, 
unless  they  stop  again." 

"  That  you  can't,"  said  she ;  "  they  won't  have  no  call  to  stop 
tell  they  git  to  the  camp,  an'  hit's  jest  this  side  of  the  mill." 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Lee's  Mill  ?  "  I  asked. 

She  looked  at  me  suspiciously,  and  I  feared  that  I  had  made 
a  mistake. 


THE  LmE  OF  THE  WAE^VICK  89 

"  Hit's  not  fur,"  she  replied ;  "  hain't  you  never  been  thar  ?  " 

"  Not  by  this  road,"  I  answered.  "  How  much  shall  I  pay 
you  ?  " 

"  Well,  Mister,  I  don't  know ;  set  your  own  price." 

I  handed  her  a  silver  half-dollar.  Her  eyes  fastened  on  me. 
I  had  made  another  mistake. 

"If  that  is  not  enough,"  said  I,  ''you  shall  have  more," 
showing  her  a  one-dollar  Confederate  note. 

"  Oh,  this  is  a  plenty,"  she  replied  j  "  but  I  was  a-wonderin' 
to  see  silver  agin." 

"  I  have  kept  a  little  for  hard  times,"  I  said. 

"  You  have  ?  Well,  the  sight  of  it  is  cert'n'y  good  f er  sore 
eyes." 

"  Can  I  reach  Lee's  Mill  before  dark  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Well,  I  reckin  you  kin,  ef  you  walk  fast  enough,"  she 
said ;  "  anyhow,  you  kin  git  to  the  camp  on  this  side." 

"  Well,  good  day,  ma'am ;  I  wish  you  well,"  said  I. 

"  Good-by,  Mister,"  she  said. 

I  had  already  opened  the  gate,  when  I  heard  her  come  to 
the  door ;  she  raised  her  voice  a  little,  and  said,  — 

"  When  you  git  to  the  big  road,  you'll  be  in  a  mile  o'  the  mill." 

So  long  as  I  was  in  sight  of  the  house  I  kept  in  the  road, 
but  as  soon  as  I  got  through  the  clearing,  I  struck  off  to  the 
right  through  the  woods.  I  was  seeking  some  hiding  place 
where  I  could  eat  and  sleep. 

WTien,  early  in  the  morning,  I  had  seen  the  pickets  retire 
from  the  post  near  Warwick,  I  had  thought  that  the  rebels 
were  all  withdrawing  to  their  maiii  lines ;  this  thought  had 
received  some  corroboration  from  the  firing  heard  in  my  rear 
later  in  the  day ;  I  had  believed  the  Union  troops  advancing 
behind  me;  but  afterward  I  had  seen  other  rebels  at  the 
woman's  house,  and  I  now  doubted  what  I  had  before  be- 
lieved. Besides,  it  was  clear  from  the  woman's  words  that 
there  was  a  rebel  post  this  side  of  Lee's  Mill,  and  I  was  yet  in 
danger. 


90  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

The  woods  were  dense.  Soon  I  saw  before  me  a  large  road 
running  west,  the  big  road  of  which  the  woman  had  spoken, 
no  doubt.  I  crept  up  to  it,  and,  seeing  no  one  in  either  direc- 
tion, ran  across  it,  and  into  the  woods  beyond.  I  went  for 
half  a  mile  or  more,  in  a  southwest  course,  and  found  a  spot 
where  I  thought  I  could  spend  the  night  in  safety.  Eor  fear 
of  being  detected  I  dug  a  hole,  with  my  knife,  in  the  earth, 
and  piled  tiie  loose  earth  around  the  hole ;  then  I  lighted  a 
fire  of  dry  sticks  at  the  bottom.  Night  had  not  yet  come, 
but  it  was  very  gloomy  in  this  dense  thi.'.:et  surrounded  by 
woods ;  I  had  little  fear  that  any  reflection  or  smoke  would 
betray  me,  for  the  thicket  was  impenetrable  to  tlie  view  of 
any  one  who  should  not  come  within  two  rods.  I  broiled  my 
bacon  and  toasted  my  bread,  and  though  I  fared  very  well, 
yet  after  eating  I  wanted  water  and  chose  to  remain  thirsty 
rather  than  in  the  darkness  to  search  for  a  spring  or  a  stream 
in  the  woods. 

I  quenched  the  fire  with  the  loose  earth ;  I  raked  up  leaves 
with  my  hands  and  made  a  bed.  I  had  no  covering,  but  the 
night  was  not  cold,  threatening  rain,  and  the  thicket  sheltered 
me  from  the  wind. 

Some  time  in  the  night  I  awoke  to  find  that  I  had  dreamed 
of  lying  in  a  mountain  brook  with  my  mouth  up  stream  and 
the  water  running  through  my  whole  body.  My  mouth  was 
parched.     I  must  have  water  at  any  risk. 

I  set  out  in  I  know  not  what  direction.  I  had  put  the  re- 
mains of  my  supper  into  my  coat  pocket,  for  my  judgment 
told  me  that  in  all  likelihood  I  could  never  return  to  the  spot 
I  was  leaving. 

Before  I  had  been  walking  ten  minutes,  I  knew  that  I  was 
completely  lost;  I  went  through  thickets  and  briers,  over 
logs  and  gullies,  round  and  round,  I  suspect,  for  hour  in  and 
hour  out,  until  just  before  day  I  saw  the  reflection  of  fire 
through  the  woods,  and  at  the  same  time  almost  fell  into 
a  small  pool.     It  was  the  reflection  of  the  light  by  the  pool 


THE   LINE   OF   THE  WAEWICK  91 

which  at  once  showed  me  the  water  and  saved  me  from  find- 
ing it  with  a  sense  other  than  sight. 

I  drank  and  drank  again ;  then  I  wondered  Avhat  the  fire 
meant.  Although  it  seemed  far  off,  I  was  afraid  of  it ;  likeiy 
enough  it  was  some  rebel  camp-tire ;  I  had  no  idea  whither  I 
had  wandered.  I  turned  my  back  on  the  light,  and  walked 
until  I  could  see  it  no  more ;  then  I  stretched  myself  under 
a  tree,  but  could  not  sleep.     Day  was  coming. 

After  a  while  it  began  to  rain,  and  I  had  a  most  uncomfort- 
able time  of  it.  It  required  considerable  effort  of  will  on  my 
part  to  determine  to  move,  for  I  did  not  know  which  way  to 
start.  I  set  out,  however,  and  had  gone  a  short  distance, 
when  I  noticed  the  green  moss  at  the  root  of  a  large  tree,  and 
I  remembered  that  I  had  read  in  stories  of  Indians  and 
hunters  that  such  moss  always  grows  on  the  north'  side  of 
the  trees.  So  I  then  turned  westward,  for  I  knew  that  I  had 
crossed  no  road  in  my  wanderings  of  the  night,  and  I  also 
knew  that  the  main  road  from  Warwick  Court-House  to  Lee's 
3lill  was  at  the  west.  A  little  at  my  left  I  saw  a  great  tree 
with  a  sloping  trunk,  and  I  went  to  it  for  shelter ;  it  was  rain- 
ing harder.  When  I  reached  the  tree  I  saw  a  road  just  be- 
yond. I  sat  under  the  tree,  the  inclined  trunk  giving  me 
shelter  from  the  rain  and  hiding  me  from  the  road.  While 
eating  the  remains  of  my  supper,  I  heard  the  tramp  of  horses, 
and  looking  out  cautiously,  saw  a  company  of  rebel  cavalry 
going  northward  at  a  trot.  At  the  same  time  I  could  dis- 
tinctly hear  skirmish  firing  behind  me,  not  half  a  mile  off, 
seemingly.     The  rain  still  fell  and  I  held  my  place. 

All  at  once  I  saw  two  men  in  the  road ;  they  were  Union 
soldiers  —  infantry  —  skirmishers. 

Before  I  could  speak  to  them  I  was  aware  of  the  fact  that  an 
advancing  line  of  our  skirmishers  was  on  either  side  of  me. 

"  Hello,  here  ! "  cried  one  of  them  ;  "  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Keep  your  place  in  line,  Private  Lewis,"  said  an  ofiicer, 
coming  up.     "  I'll  attend  to  that  man." 


92  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

"  Privates  Jones  and  George,  halt !  Skirmishers,  fill  inter- 
vals to  the  right !  " 

Two  men  came  to  the  lieutenant. 

"  Who  are  you,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  lieutenant. 

"  Private  Berwick,  Eleventh  Massachusetts,"  said  I. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  the  enemy  ?     Speak  quick ! " 

"  They  are  this  side  of  Lee's  Mill,  Lieutenant,  but  I  got  lost 
in  the  night,  and  I  don't  even  know  where  I  am  now.  About 
fifty  of  their  cavalry  went  by  ten  minutes  ago." 

The  line  went  on  in  the  rain. 

The  lieutenant  placed  me  in  charge  of  the  two  men,  order- 
ing them  to  take  me  at  once  to  the  rear,  and  to  report  to 
General  Davidson.  I  have  never  learned  the  name  of  that 
lieutenant;  he  had  some  good  qualities. 

Meanwhile  a  sharp  skirmish  was  going  on  in  front,  and 
our  line  did  not  seem  to  advance.  A  section  of  artillery 
dashed  by.  I  began  to  understand  that,  if  I  had  gone  on  a 
few  hundred  yards,  I  should  have  run  upon  the  enemy  in 
force. 

I  was  brought  before  General  Davidson.  He  was  on  horse, 
at  the  head  of  his  brigade.     He  asked  me  my  name. 

"  Jones  Berwick,  General,"  said  I. 

"  What  is  your  business  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  private,  sir,  in  the  Eleventh  Massachusetts." 

He  smiled  at  this ;  then  he  asked,  still  smiling,  ''  Where  is 
your  regiment  ?  " 

<'It  is  in  camp  below  Washington,  General,  I  suppose;  at 
least,  it  had  not  reached  Newport  News  on  the  evening  of 
the  day  before  yesterday." 

"  How  is  it  that  you  are  here  while  your  regiment  is  still 
near  Washington  ?  " 

"  I  had  surgeon's  leave  to  precede  my  regiment  on  account 
of  my  health,  General." 

"And  this  is  the  way  you  take  care  of  your  health,  is  it, 
by  lying  out  in  the  woods  in  the  rain  ?  " 


THE  LINE   OF  THE  WAEWICK  93 

"  It  was  a  montli  ago,  General,  that  the  surgeon  dismissed 
me,  and  I  am  now  fully  recovered." 

General  Davidson  looked  serious.  "  You  were  at  Newport 
News  on  day  before  yesterday  ?  " 

"I  was  near  Newport  News,  sir,  at  the  Sanitary  camp. 
General  MeClellau  had  just  arrived  at  Fortress  Monroe;  so  I 
heard  before  I  left." 

"  And  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  I  think  you  have  the 
Southern  accent." 

"  I  have  been  told  so  before,  General ;  but  I  am  not  a  South- 
erner ;  I  came  out  to  observe  the  rebel  lines." 

"  By  whose  authority  ?  " 

Now,  I  could  have  told  General  Davidson  that  I  had  had  a 
pass,  signed  by  such  an  officer ;  but  I  feared  to  do  so,  lest  some 
complication  should  arise  which  would  give  trouble  to  such  an 
officer,  for  Dr.  Khayme  had  not  fully  informed  me  about  my 
privileges. 

"  It  was  only  a  private  enterprise.  General." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  he  said. 

I  said  briefly  that,  on  the  day  before,  I  had  passed  up  the 
Warwick  Eiver;  and  that  the  main  line  of  the  enemy  lay 
behind  it ;  that  the  fords  had  been  destroyed  by  dams,  and 
that  there  were  no  rebels  on  this  side  of  the  river  now,  in  my 
opinion,  except  pickets,  and  possibly  a  force  just  in  front  of 
Lee's  Mill. 

"  But  do  you  not  hear  the  rebel  artillery  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  think.  General,  that  the  rebel  artillery  is  firing  from  the 
other  side  of  the  river,  but  I  admit  that  I  am  not  sure  of  it. 
Night  came  on  me  yesterday  before  I  could  reach  Lee's  Mill, 
and  I  have  nothing  but  hearsay  in  regard  to  that  place." 

"  What  have  you  heard  ?  " 

I  told  him  what  the  woman  had  said. 

"  What  proof  can  you  give  me  that  you  are  not  deceiving 
me  ?  "  he  asked  sternly. 

"I  do  not  know.  General,"  said  I,  "that  I  can  give  you  any 


94  WHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

proof ;  I  wish  I  could ;  perhaps  you  can  so  question  me  as  to 
satisfy  you." 

The  general  sent  a  courier  to  the  front.  He  then  wrote  a 
line  on  a  piece  of  paper,  and  handed  the  note  to  another  cou- 
rier, who  rushed  off  to  the  rear.  In  a  few  minutes  an  officer 
rode  up  from  the  rear ;  he  saluted  General  Davidson,  who 
spoke  earnestly  to  him  in  a  low  tone.  I  could  easily  guess 
that  he  was  speaking  of  me. 

Then  the  officer  approached  me,  and  asked  many  questions 
about  my  service:  —  where  I  was  from  —  where  was  my  regi- 
ment from  —  who  was  its  colonel  —  who  was  my  captain  — 
how  I  had  come  to  the  army  ahead  of  my  regiment,  etc.  To 
all  these  questions  I  gave  brief  and  quick  replies.  Then  tho 
officer  asked  for  a  detailed  account  of  my  scout,  which  I  gave 
him  in  as  few  words  as  I  knew  how  to  use.  When  I  spoke  of 
Nick,  his  eye  brightened ;  when  I  spoke  of  giving  Nick  a  note, 
he  nodded  his  head.     Then  he  asked,  "  What  did  you  write  ?  " 

"  The  word  goiyig,^'  I  said. 

"  Have  you  a  pencil  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Here,  take  this,  and  write  the  word  gomg,"  he  said,  hand- 
ing me  a  small  blank-book. 

On  a  leaf  of  the  book  I  wrote  the  word,  and  my  signature 
below. 

Then  the  officer  took  another  book  from  his  pocket,  and 
looked  attentively  at  both  books. 

Then  he  said :  "  General,  I  think  there  is  something  in  what 
he  says.     Better  be  careful  of  your  advance." 

And  to  me,  "  You  must  need  rest  and  food ;  come  with  me, 
]\rr.  Berwick." 

That  night  I  slept  in  Dr.  Khayme's  tent. 


XI 

FORT   WILLIS 

"This  is  the  sergeant, 
Who  like  a  bold  and  hardy  soldier  fought." 

—  Shakespeare. 

After  having  been  well  treated  at  General  Keyes's  head- 
quarters, I  had  been  given  a  seat  in  an  ambulance  going  back 
to  Newport  News.  The  officer  who  had  questioned  nie  proved 
to  be  one  of  the  general's  aides.  The  negro  Nick  had  suc- 
ceeded in  avoiding  the  rebels,  and  had  delivered  my  message, 
with  which  my  handwriting  showed  identity ;  moreover,  Gen- 
eral Keyes,  when  the  matter  was  brought  to  his  attention, 
immediately  declared  with  a  laugh  that  his  friend  Khayme's 
protege  was  a  "  brick." 

The  physical  and  mental  tension  to  which  I  had  been  con- 
tinuously subjected  for  more  than  two  days  was  followed  by  a 
reaction  which,  though  natural  enough,  surprised  me  by  its 
degree.  I  lay  on  a  camp-bed  after  supper,  utterly  done.  The 
Doctor  and  Lydia  sat  near  me,  and  questioned  me  on  my 
adventures,  as  they  were  pleased  to  term  my  escapade.  Lydia 
was  greatly  interested  in  my  account  of  my  visit  to  the 
woman's  house;  the  Doctor's  chief  interest  was  centred  on 
Nick. 

"Jones,"  said  he,  "you  were  right  from  a  purely  prudential 
point  of  view  in  testing  the  negro  well ;  but  in  your  place  I 
should  have  trusted  him  the  instant  I  learned  that  he  was  a 
slave." 

"But,  Father,"  said  Lydia;  "you  surely  don't  think  that  all 
the  slaves  wish  to  be  free." 

95 


96  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"  No,  I  don't ;  but  I  believe  that  every  man  slave,  who  has 
independence  of  character  sufficient  to  cause  him  to  be  alone 
at  night  between  two  hostile  armies,  wishes  to  be  free." 

"  You  are  right,  Doctor,"  said  I ;  "  but  you  must  admit,  I 
think,  that  at  the  time  I  could  hardly  reason  so  clearly  as  you 
can  now." 

This  must  have  been  said  very  sleepily,  for  Lydia  exclaimed, 
"  Father,  Mr.  Berwick  needs  rest." 

"Yes,  madam  ;  he  needs  rest,  but  not  such  as  you  are  think- 
ing of.  Let  him  fully  unburden  himself  in  a  mild  and  gentle- 
manly way;  then  he  can  sleep  the  sleep  of  the  just." 

"  Oh,  Father,  your  words  sound  like  a  funeral  service." 

"  I  am  alive.  Miss  Lydia ;  and  you  know  the  Doctor  believes 
that  the  just  live  forever." 

"The  just?  I  believe  everybody  lives  forever,  and  always 
did  live." 

"  Even  the  rebels  ?  "  then  I  thought  that  I  should  have  said 
"  slaveholders." 

"  Rebels  will  live  forever,  but  they  will  cease  to  be  rebels, 
that  is,  after  they  have  accomplished  their  purposes,  and  rebel- 
lion becomes  unnecessary." 

"  Then  you  admit  at  last  that  rebellion,  and  consequently 
war,  are  necessary  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  see  how  you  can  draw  such  an  inference,"  said 
the  Doctor ;  "  rebellion  cannot  make  war  necessary,  and  hostil- 
ity to  usurped  authority  is  always  right." 

"  How  can  there  be  such  without  war  as  a  consequence  ?  "  I 
asked  languidly. 

"  Father,"  said  Lydia,  "  please  let  Mr.  Berwick  rest." 

"  Madam,  you  are  keeping  him  from  going  to  sleep ;  I  am 
only  making  him  sleepy." 

Lydia  retired. 

I  wondered  if  the  Doctor  knew  to  the  full  what  he  was  say- 
ing. He  continued  :  "  Well,  Jones,  I'll  let  you  off  now  on  that 
subject;  but  I  warn  you  that  it  is  the  first  paper  on  the  pro- 


FORT   WILLIS  97 

gramme  for  to-morrow.  By  the  way,  you  will  have  but  a  few 
days'  rest  now ;  your  regiment  is  expected  on  the  tenth." 

"  Glad  to  hear  it,  Doctor." 

"  So  you  think  the  Confederate  lines  are  very  strong  ?  " 

"Yes,  they  are  certainly  very  strong,  at  least  that  part  of 
them  that  I  saw.  What  they  are  near  Yorktown,  I  cannot  say, 
of  course." 

"  I  can  see  one  thing,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  The  map  we  have  is  incorrect." 

"How  so?" 

"  It  makes  the  Warwick  creek  too  short  and  too  straight." 

"  I  found  it  very  long,"  said  I ;  "  and  it  is  wide,  and  it  is 
deep,  and  it  cannot  be  turned  on  the  James  Eiver  side  except 
by  the  fleet." 

"  The  fleet  is  not  going  to  turn  that  line ;  the  fleet  is  doing 
nothing,  and  probably  will  do  nothing  until  the  Mernmac  is 
disposed  of." 

"  Doctor,  how  in  the  world  do  you  get  all  your  information  ?  " 

"  By  this  and  that,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  How  we  are  to  get  at  the  rebels  I  can't  see,"  said  I. 

"On  the  Yorktown  end  of  their  line,"  replied  the  Doctor. 

"  It  seems  to  me  a  singular  coincidence,"  said  I,  "  that  our 
troops  should  have  been  advancing  behind  me  all  day  yes- 
terday." 

"  Do  you  object  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Not  at  all;  I  was  about  used  up  when  they  found  me. 
What  I  should  have  done  I  don't  well  see." 

"  You  would  have  been  compelled  to  start  back,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  and  I  had  no  food,  and  should  have  been 
compelled  to  wait  till  night  to  make  a  start." 

Dr.  Khayme  was  exceedingly  cheerful ;  he  smoked  inces- 
santly and  faster  than  he  usually  smoked.  The  last  thing  I  can 
remember  before  sleep  overcame  my  senses  was  the  thought 
that  the  idol's  head  looked  alive,  and  that  the  smoke-clouds 


98  WHO  GOES  THERE? 

which,  rose  above  it  and  half  hid  the  Doctor's  face  were  not 
mere  forms  that  would  dissipate  and  be  no  more ;  they  seemed 
living  beings  —  servants  attendant  on  their  master's  will. 
******* 

The  next  day  was  cold  and  damp.  I  went  out  but  little,  I 
wrote  sorae  letters,  and  rested  comfortably.  The  Doctor  gave 
me  the  news  that  Yorktown  had  been  invested,  and  that  there 
was  promise  of  a  siege  instead  of  a  battle. 

"They  have  found  the  Confederate  lines  too  strong  to  be 
taken  by  assault,"  said  he ;  "  and  while  McClellan  waits  for 
reenforcements,  there  will  be  nothing  to  prevent  the  Confed- 
erates from  being  reenforced ;  so  mote  it  be." 

"  What !     You  are  not  impatient  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  And  you  are  willing  for  the  enemy  to  be  reenforced  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  yes  ;  I  know  that  the  more  costly  the  war  the  sooner  it 
will  end." 

"  I  think  McClellan  ought  to  have  advanced  before,"  said  I ; 
"he  is  likely  to  lose  much  time  now." 

"  He  has  plenty  of  time ;  he  has  all  the  time  there  is." 

"  All  the  time  there  is !  that  means  eternity." 

"  Of  course ;  he  has  eternity,  no  more  and  no  less." 

"  That  is  a  long  time,"  said  I,  thinking  aloud. 

"And  as  broad  as  it  is  long,"  said  the  Doctor j  "everything 
will  happen  in  that  time." 

"  To  McClellan  ?  " 

"  Why  not  to  McClellan  ?     To  all." 

"  Everything  is  a  big  word,  Doctor." 

"  Ko  bigger  than  eternity." 

"  And  McClellan  will  win  and  will  lose  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  hardly  understand,  Doctor,  what  you  mean  by  saying  that 
everything  will  happen." 

"I  mean,"  said  he,  "that  change  and  eternity  are  all  the 
conditions  necessary  to  cause  everything  to  come  to  pass." 


FORT   WILLIS  '99 

"  The  rebels  will  -win  and  the  North  will  win  ?  " 

''Yes;  both  of  these  seemingly  contradictory  events  will 
happen." 

"  You  surely  are  a  strange  puzzle." 

"  I  give  myself  enough  time,  do  I  not  ?  " 

"  But  time  can  never  reconcile  a  contradiction." 

"  The  contradiction  is  only  seeming." 

"  Did  both  Confederates  and  Union  troops  win  the  battle  of 
Bull  Run?" 

"  The  Confederates  defeated  the  Federals,"  said  the  Doctor ; 
"  but  the  defeat  will  prove  profitable  to  the  defeated.  V/hat  I 
mean  by  saying  both  North  and  South  will  win,  you  surely 
know ;  it  is  that  the  divine  purpose,  working  in  all  the  nations, 
will  find  its  end  and  accomplishment,  and  this  purpose  is  not 
limited,  in  the  present  wicked  strife,  to  either  of  the  comba- 
tants. What  the  heart  of  the  people  of  both  sections  wants 
will  come ;  what  they  want  they  fight  for ;  but  it  would  have 
come  without  war,  as  I  was  about  to  tell  you  last  night,  when 
you  interrupted  me  by  going  to  sleep." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  laughing,  "  you  were  going  to  tell  me  how 
rebellion  could  exist  and  not  bring  war." 

"  And  Mr.  Berwick  made  his  escape,"  said  Lydia. 

"  But  you  promised  to  give  it  to  me  to-day,  Doctor." 

"  Give  it  to  me  !  That  is  an  expression  which  I  have  heard 
used  in  two  senses,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  Well,  you  were  giving  it  to  me  last  night ;  now  be  so  good 
as  to  give  it." 

"  Better  feel  Mr.  Berwick's  pulse  first.  Father." 

"  You  people  are  leagued  against  me,"  said  he ;  "  and  I  shall 
proceed  to  punish  you." 

"  By  refusing  me  ?  " 

"  No ;  by  giving  it  to  you.  I  said,  did  I  not,  that  rebellion 
does  not  necessarily  bring  war  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  postulate,"  I  replied. 

"  Then,  first,  what  is  rebellion  ?  " 


100  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

*' Rebellion,"  said  I,  "rebellion  —  rebellion,"  seeking  a  defini- 
tion, "  rebellion  is  armed  hostility,  within  a  nation  or  state,  to 
the  legalized  government  of  the  nation  or  state." 

"I  am  willing  to  accept  that,"  said  the  Doctor;  "now  let 
us  see  if  there  have  not  been  cases  of  rebellion  without  war. 
What  do  you  say  of  Jeroboam  and  the  ten  tribes  ?  " 

"  I  say  that  there  was  about  to  be  war,  and  the  Almighty 
put  a  stop  to  it." 

"  That  is  all  I  pray  for,"  said  the  Doctor ;  "  then,  what  do 
you  say  of  Monk  ?  " 

"  What  Monk  ?  " 

"The  general  of  the  commonwealth  who  restored  Charles 
the  Second." 

"  Monk  simply  decided  a  dilemma,"  said  I.  "  I  don't  count 
that  a  rebellion ;  the  people  were  glad  to  settle  matters." 

"  Well,  we  won't  count  Monk  ;  what  do  you  say  —  " 

"  No  more.  Doctor,"  I  interrupted ;  "  I  admit  that  rebellion 
does  not  bring  war  when  the  other  party  won't  fight." 

"  But  it  is  wrong  to  fight,"  he  said. 

"  Then  every  rebellion  ought  to  succeed,"  said  I. 

"  Certainly  it  ought,  at  least  for  a  time.  What  I  am  con- 
tending is  that  every  revolution  should  be  peaceable.  Would 
not  England  have  been  wiser  if  she  had  not  endeavoured  to 
subdue  the  colonies  ?  Suppose  the  principle  of  peace  were  cher- 
ished :  the  ideas  that  would  otherwise  cause  rebellion  would 
be  patiently  tested ;  the  men  of  new  or  opposite  ideas  would 
no  longer  be  rebels;  they  would  be  statesmen;  a  rebellion 
would  be  accepted,  tried,  and  defeated  by  a  counter  rebellion, 
both  peaceable.  It  is  simply  leaving  things  to  the  will  of  the 
majority.  Right  ideas  will  win,  no  matter  what  the  opposition 
to  them.  Better  change  the  arena  of  conflict.  A  single  cham- 
pion of  an  idea  would  once  challenge  a  doubter  and  prove  his 
hypothesis  by  the  blood  of  the  disputant ;  you  do  the  same 
thing  on  a  great  scale.  The  Southern  people  —  very  good 
people  as  you  and  I  have  cause  to  know  —  think  the  constitu- 


FORT  WILLIS  101 

tion  gives  them  the  right,  or  rather  cannot  take  away  the  right, 
to  withdraw  from  the  Union ;  you  ISTorthern  people  think  they 
deserve  death  for  so  thinking,  and  you  proceed  to  kill  them 
off ;  you  intend  keeping  it  up  until  too  few  of  them  are  left 
to  think  fatally;  but  they  will  think,  and  your  killing  them 
will  not  prove  your  ideas  right." 

"  And  so  you  would  settle  it  by  letting  them  alone  ?  Yes,  I 
know  that  is  what  you  think  should  be  done.  But  how  about 
slavery  ?  "  I  asked,  thinking  to  touch  a  tender  spot. 

"  The  North  should  have  rebelled  peaceably  against  slavery  ; 
many  a  Southern  man  would  have  joined  this  peaceable  rebel- 
lion ;  the  idea  would  have  won,  not  at  once,  neither  will  this 
war  be  won  at  once ;  but  the  idea  would  have  won,  and  under 
such  conditions,  I  mean  with  the  South  knowing  that  the 
peaceable  extension  of  knowledge  concerning  principle  was 
involved,  instead  of  massacre  according  to  the  John  Brown 
idiocy,  a  great  amelioration  in  the  condition  of  the  slave  would 
have  begun  immediately.  The  South  would  have  gradually 
liberated  the  slaves." 

"Doctor,  you  are  saying  only  that  we  are  far  from 
perfection." 

"No;  I  am  saying  more  than  that;  I  am  saying  that  we 
ought  to  have  ideals,  and  strive  to  reach  them." 

******* 

On  the  12th  we  learned  that  Hooker's  division  had  landed 
at  Ship  Point,  and  had  formed  part  of  the  lines  investing  York- 
town,  On  the  next  day  I  rejoined  my  company.  Willis  gave 
a  yell  when  he  saw  me  coming.  The  good  fellow  was  the 
same  old  Willis  —  strong,  brave,  and  generous.  We  soon  went 
off  for  a  private  chat. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself  all  this  time  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"I've  been  with  Dr.  Khayme  —  at  Newport  News,  you 
know.  Our  camp  was  never  moved  once;  what  have  you 
been  doing  ?  " 


102  WHO  GOES   THEKE? 

"Same  old  thing  —  camp  guard,  and  drill,  and  waiting  our 
turn  to  come.     Say,  Berwick,  do  you  know  the  new  drill  ?  " 

"  What  new  drill  ?  " 

"  Hardee." 

"  You  don't  say  ! " 

"Fact.     Whole  division." 

"Bo  you  like  it  better?" 

"  Believe  I  do." 

"We'll  have  no  time  to  drill  here,"  said  I;  "we'll  have 
enough  to  do  of  another  sort." 

Yet  I  was  compelled  to  make  the  change,  which  referred  to 
the  manual  of  arms,  Hardee's  tactics,  in  which  system  the  piece 
is  carried  in  the  right  hand  at  shoulder  arms,  having  been  sub- 
stituted for  Scott's,  which  provides  for  the  shoulder  on  the  left 
side.  There  was  no  actual  drill,  however,  and  my  clumsy  per- 
formance—  clumsy  compared  with  that  of  the  other  men  of 
the  company  who  had  become  accustomed  to  the  change  —  was 
limited  to  but  little  exercise,  and  was  condoned  by  the  ser- 
geants because  of  my  inexperience. 

I  noticed  that  Willis  did  not  mention  Lydia's  name.  I  did 
not  expect  him  to  mention  it,  though  I  knew  he  was  wanting 
to  hear  of  her ;  and  I  did  not  feel  that  I  ought  to  volunteer  in 
giving  him  information  concerning  the  young  ladj^  He  asked 
me  about  Dr.  Khayme,  however,  and  thus  gave  me  the  chance 
to  let  him  know  that  the  Doctor  himself  would  move  his 
quarters  to  the  rear  of  our  lines,  but  that  his  daughter  would 
remain  at  the  hospital  at  Newport  News  until  the  army  should 
advance  beyond  Yorktown. 

And  now,  for  almost  a  full  month,  we  fronted  the  rebel  lines 
of  Yorktown.  Our  regim.ent  was  in  the  trenches  much  of  the 
time,  and  frequently  in  the  rifle-pits.  The  weather  was  bad ; 
rain  fell  almost  every  other  day,  and  at  night  we  suffered  from 
cold,  especially  on  the  picket-lines,  where  no  fires  were  allowed. 
I  suppose  I  stood  the  hardships  as  well  as  most  of  the  men,  but 
I  could  not  have  endured  much  more.     AYillis's  programme  of 


FORT   WILLIS  103 

the  campaign  had  been  completely  upset ;  he  had  said  that  we 
sliould  take  Yorktown  in  a  week  and  pursue  the  routed  rebels 
into  Richmond,  and  now  we  were  doing  but  little  —  so  far  as 
we  could  see  —  to  bring  matters  to  a  conclusion.  The  artillery 
of  the  rebels  played  on  our  lines,  and  our  gung  replied;  the 
pickets,  too,  were  frequently  busy  popping  away  at  each  other, 
and  occasionally  hitting  their  marks.  Ever  since  the  siege  of 
Yorktown,  where  I  saw  that  great  quantities  of  lead  and  iron 
were  wasted,  and  but  few  men  hurt, — though  Dr.  Khayme 
maintained  that  the  waste  became  a  crime  when  men  were 
killed,  —  I  have  had  a  feeling  of  disgust  whenever  I  have  read 
the  words  ''unerring  rifles."  More  lies  have  been  told  about 
wars  and  battles,  and  about  the  courage  of  men,  and  patriotism, 
and  so  forth,  than  could  be  set  down  in  a  column  of  figures  as 
long  as  the  equator.  From  April  13  to  May  4  the  casualties 
of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  before  Yorktown  did  not  reach 
half  of  one  per  cent.  The  men  learned  speedily  to  dodge  shells, 
and  I  remember  hearing  one  man  say  that  he  dodged  a  bullet. 
He  saw  a  black  spot  seemingly  stationary,  and  knew  at  once 
that  the  thing  was  coming  in  a  straight  line  for  his  eye.  The 
story  was  swallowed,  but  I  think  nobody  believed  it,  except 
the  hero  thereof,  who  was  a  good  soldier,  however,  and  ordi- 
narily truthful.  How  can  you  expect  a  man,  who  is  supremely 
interested  in  a  small  incident,  to  think  it  small  ?  For  my  part, 
it  was  a  rarity  to  see  even  a  big  shell,  unless  it  was  a  tired  one. 
I  dodged  per  order,  mostly.  Of  course,  when  I  saw  the  smoke 
of  a  cannon,  and  knew  that  the  cannon  was  looking  toward 
me,  I  got  under  cover  without  waiting  for  the  long  roll ;  but  it 
was  amusing  sometimes  to  hear  fellows  cry  out,  "I  see  a  shell 
coming  this  way,"  at  the  smoke  of  a  gun,  and  have  everybody 
seeking  shelter,  when  no  sound  of  a  shell  would  follow,  the 
missile  having  gone  into  the  woods  half  a  mile  to  our  right 
or  left. 

I  grew  more  attached  to  Willis.     If  the  Army  of  the  Poto- 
mac had  in  its  ranks  any  better  soldier  than  this  big  red-headed 


104  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

sergeant,  I  never  saw  him.  He  was  ready  for  any  duty,  no 
matter  what :  to  lead  a  picket  squad  into  its  pits  under  fire ;  to 
serve  all  night  on  the  skirmish  detail  in  place  of  a  sick  friend ; 
to  dig  and  shoot  and  laugh  and  swear,  in  everything  he  was 
simply  superb.  That  I  do  not  quote  his  cuss-words  must  not 
be  taken  as  an  indication  that  they  were  commonplace.  Every- 
thing he  did  he  did  with  his  might,  almost  violently.  He  was 
a  good  shot,  too,  within  the  range  of  the  smooth-bore.  The 
rebel  pickets  —  most  of  them  —  seemed  to  be  better  armed  than 
we  were ;  it  was  said  that  they  had  ■  received  some  cargoes  of 
long  Enfields  —  nine  hundred  yards'  range,  according  to  the 
marked  sights,  and  no  telling  how  far  beyond  —  by  blockade- 
runners.  They  could  keep  us  down  behind  the  pits  while  they 
would  walk  about  as  they  chose,  unless  a  shell  from  one  of  our 
batteries  was  flung  at  them,  in  which  case  they  showed  that 
they,  too,  had  been  studying  the  dodging  lesson.  Willis  was 
greatly  disgruntled  over  the  fact  that  the  rebels  were  the  better 
armed,  and  frequently  his  temper  got  the  upper  hand  of  him. 
A  bullet  went  through  his  hat  one  day  when  he  was  trying 
vainly  to  pick  off  a  man  in  a  rifle-pit;  Willis's  bullet  would 
cut  the  dirt  a  hundred  yards  too  short ;  the  Enfield  Minie  ball 
would  go  a-kiting  over  our  heads  and  making  men  far  to  our  rear 
look  out.  Sometimes  Willis  was  very  gloomy,  and  I  attributed 
this  condition  to  his  passion  for  Lydia,  though  on  such  a  sub- 
ject he  never  opened  his  mouth  to  me. 

One  dark  rainy  night,  about  the  21st,  I  believe,  Willis  and  I 
were  both  on  the  picket  detail.  It  came  my  time  for  vedette 
duty,  and  Willis  was  the  sergeant  to  do  the  escort  act.  There 
had  been  skirmishing  on  this  part  of  the  line  the  preceding 
day,  but  at  sunset,  or  the  hour  for  sunset  if  the  weather  had 
been  fair,  the  firing  had  ceased  as  we  marched  up  and  relieved 
the  old  pickets.  We  were  in  the  woods,  the  most  of  us,  but 
just  here,  on  the  right  of  our  own  detail,  there  were  a  few  rifle- 
pits  in  the  open,  the  opposing  skirmish  lines  being  perhaps 
four  hundred  yards  apart,  and  our. vedette  posts  —  we  main- 


PORT   WILLIS  105 

tained  them  only  at  night  —  being  about  sixty  yards  in  ad- 
vance of  our  pits,  and  always  composed  of  three  men  for  each 
post.  We  found  our  three  men  numb  with  cold,  two  lying 
near  the  edge  of  the  woods,  in  a  big  hole  made  by  a  shell, 
while  the  other  stood  guard.  They  had  seen  nothing  and 
heard  nothing  except  the  ordinary  sounds  of  the  night.  The 
clouds  reflected  the  peculiar  glow  of  many  fires  in  front.  It 
was  not  long  till  day.  The  two  men,  my  companions  on  post, 
whispered  together,  and  then  proposed  that  I  should  take  the 
first  watch.  Willis  had  returned  to  the  line  with  the  relieved 
vedettes.  I  had  no  objection  to  taking  the  first  watch,  yet 
I  hesitated,  simply  because  the  two  men  had  whispered.  I 
fancied  there  was  some  reason  for  the  request,  and  I  asked 
bluntly  why  they  had  decided  it  was  my  turn  without  giving 
me  a  voice  in  the  matter.  You  know  it  is  the  custom  to  decide 
such  affairs  by  lot,  unless  some  man  volunteers  for  the  worst 
place.  They  replied  that  they  were  old  friends,  and  that  as 
I  was  a  stranger  to  them,  the  detail  being  made  up  from  vari- 
ous companies,  they  preferred  lying  together. 

This  explanation  did  not  seem  very  satisfactory,  for  the 
reason  that  in  two  hours  we  should  all  be  relieved ;  yet  I  con- 
sented, and  they  lay  down  in  the  hole,  which  was  little  more  than 
a  mud-puddle,  for  fear  of  some  sudden  volley  from  the  rebels. 

The  position  of  the  man  on  watch  at  this  point  was  just  at 
the  left  oblique  from  the  other  men,  say  about  ten  paces,  and 
very  near  to  a  tree  which  stood  apart  from  the  rest  of  the 
forest,  a  scraggy  pine  of  second  growth,  not  very  tall,  but 
thick  and  heavy,  with  its  limbs  starting  from  the  trunk  as 
low  as  eight  feet  from  the  ground.  I  stood  near  this  tree, 
within  reach  of  it  by  a  leap.  Our  nearest  vedette  posts,  right 
and  left,  were  a  hundred  yards  from  me  —  the  one  on  the  left 
being  in  the  woods,  that  on  the  right  in  the  open.  The  coun- 
try called  the  Peninsula  is  low  and  flat  and  very  swampy  in 
many  parts,  and  the  great  quantity  of  rain  that  had  now  fallen 
for  days  and  days  had  rendered  the  whole  land  a  loblolly, 


106  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

to  use  a  common  figure.  I  saw  that  just  in  front  of  me, 
about  thirty  yards,  tliere  was  a  shallow  ravine,  and  I  began  to 
think  that  it  was  possible  for  an  enterprising  squad  of  rebels 
to  sneak  through  this  ravine  and  get  very  near  us  before  we 
knew  it,  and  perhaps  capture  us ;  such  things  had  been  done, 
if  the  truth  was  told,  not  only  by  the  rebels,  but  by  many 
other  people  at  war. 

Beyond  the  ravine  were  the  Confederates,  their  skirmish 
line  about  three  hundred  yards  beyond  it,  and  their  nightly 
vedette  posts  nobody  knew  where,  for  they  used  similar  econ- 
omy to  ours  in -withdrawing  their  vedettes  in  the  day.  The 
Doctor's  talks,  many  of  which  I  can  but  barely  mention,  had 
opened  my  eyes  a  little  to  the  possibility  of  accurate  infer- 
ences, that  is  to  say,  his  philosophy  of  cause  and  effect,  or 
purpose,  as  he  liked  better  to  call  it,  had  been  lu'ged  upon  me 
so  frequently  and  so  profoundly  that  I  had  become  more 
observant;  he  had  made  me  think  of  the  relations  of  things. 
Philosophy,  he  had  said,  should  be  carried  into  everyday 
life  and  into  the  smallest  matters;  that  was  what  made  a 
good  fisherman,  a  good  farmer,  a  good  merchant,  and  a  good 
soldier,  provided,  he  had  added,  there  could  be  such  a  thing. 
This  ravine,  then,  had  attracted  me  from  the  first.  I  saw  that 
it  presented  opportunity.  A  few  rebels  might  creep  along  it, 
get  into  the  woods,  make  prisoners  of  the  vedettes  on  several 
posts,  and  then  there  would  be  a  gap  through  which  our  skir- 
mish line  might  be  surprised. 

I  went  qiiietly  forward  in  the  edge  of  the  woods  until  I 
stood  near  the  ravine,  and  examined  it  as  well  as  I  could  for 
the  darkness.  It  did  not  extend  into  the  forest,  for  the  roots 
of  the  trees  there  protected  the  soil  from  washing  away.  The 
undergrowth  at  my  left  was  not  very  dense ;  I  judged  that  in 
daylight  one  could  see  into  the  forest  a  hundred  yards  or 
more.  At  my  right,  the  gully  began  and  seemed  to  widen  and 
deepen  as  it  went,  but  nothing  definite  could  I  make  out;  all 
was  lost  in  the  night. 


FORT  WILLIS  107 

My  examination  of  the  spot  had  been  made  very  quickly, 
for  I  was  really  transgressing  rule  in  leaving  my  post,  even 
for  a  more  forward  place  but  thirty  yards  away,  and  I  was 
back  at  my  tree  in  less  than  a  minute. 

The  two  men  were  yet  lying  in  the  hole;  they  had  not 
observed  .my  short  absence,  I  was  glad  to  see.  I  did  not 
know  these  men,  and  I  would  not  like  them  to  know  that  I 
had  left  my  post.  Yet  I  felt  that  I  had  done  right  in  leaving 
it;  I  had  deserted  it,  technically  speaking,  but  only  to  take 
a  proper  precaution  in  regard  to  the  post  itself.  Then,  what  is 
a  man's  post  ?  Merely  the  ground  with  which  the  soles  of 
his  feet  are  in  touch  ?  If  he  may  move  an  inch,  how  far 
may  he  move  ?  Yet  I  was  glad  that  the  men  had  not 
seen  me  move  and  come  back,  and  I  was  glad,  too,  that 
they  had  made  the  proposal  that  I  should  take  the  first 
watch,  for  I  had  discovered  danger  that  must  be  remedied 
at  once.  It  was  almost  time  now  for  one  of  these  men  to  take 
my  place. 

My  fear  increased.  The  motionless  men  at  my  right,  un- 
conscious of  any  new  element  of  danger,  added  to  my  nervous- 
ness.    I  must  do  something. 

I  walked  to  the  men  and  spoke  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Who  stands  watch  next  ?  " 

"  Me.     But  it's  not  time  yet." 

"  Not  quite,"  I  said ;  "  but  it  will  be  soon.  I  want  you  to 
go  back  to  the  line  and  tell  Sergeant  Willis  that  I'd  like  to 
see  him  a  minute." 

"Go  yourself,"  he  said;  "I'm  not  under  your  orders." 

"If  you  will  do  what  I  ask,  I'll  take  your  watch  for  you," 
said  I. 

The  tempting  offer  was  accepted  at  once ;  the  man  rose  and 
said,  "  What  is  it  you  say  I'm  to  tell  him  ?  " 

The  other  man  also  had  risen, 

"  Only  that  I  want  to  see  him." 

"  Anything  wrong  ?  " 


108  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"  No ;  tell  him  I  want  to  see  him  for  a  moment  out  here ; 
that  is  all." 

The  man  went;  his  companion  remained  standing  —  he  had 
become  alarmed,  perhaps. 

When  Willis  came  I  was  under  the  tree. 

"  What's  up,  Jones  ?  " 

"I  want  to  know  what  that  dark  line  means  there  in  front." 

"It's  a  gully,"  says  he. 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  out  there  and  look  about  you ;  I 
think  our  post  ought  to  be  where  we  can  see  into  ic." 

"All  right,"  said  he;  "I'll  go  and  look  at  it." 

I  remained  on  post.  It  would  not  do,  I  thought,  to  give 
any  intimation  to  the  men  that  I  had  been  to  the  ravine ;  they 
were  standing  near  me. 

In  two  minutes  Willis  returned. 

"Jones,"  says  he;  "move  your  post  up  here.  You  men 
stay  where  you  are." 

We  went  out  together,  Willis  and  I,  to  the  edge  of  the 
ravine, 

"  You're  right,  Jones,"  he  says,  in  a  whisper ;  "  the  post 
ought  to  be  here." 

"  Yes ;  it  would  be  easy  for  those  fellows  over  yonder  to 
surprise  us.  This  ravine  ought  to  be  watched  in  the  day 
even." 

The  sergeant  showed  no  intention  of  leaving  me ;  he  seemed 
to  be  thinking.    Suddenly  he  gave  his  thigh  a  resounding  slap. 

"  There ! "  says  he,  "now  I've  done  it — but  maybe  they  won't 
know  what  that  noise  means.     Say,  Jones,  I've  got  an  idea." 

"Let's  have  it." 

"  We  can  get  lots  of  fun  out  here." 

"  I  don't  understand.     What  are  you  driving  at  ?  " 

"Well,"  says  he,  "you  just  leave  it  all  to  me.  Don't  you 
say  a  word  to  them  fellows.  I'll  fix  it  up  and  let  you  in,  too. 
Just  be  mum  now,  old  man." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  mean." 


FORT  WILLIS  109 

But  he  had  already  started  back. 

It  ought  to  be  showing  signs  of  day  behind  me,  I  was 
thinking;  yet  the  weather  was  bad,  and,  although  it  had 
stopped  raining,  I  knew  that  in  all  likelihood  we  should  have 
a  thick  fog  which  would  prolong  the  duty  of  the  vedettes  and 
make  another  relief  necessary. 

When  Willis  appeared  again,  three  other  men  were  follow- 
ing —  good  men  of  Company  D.  I  could  hear  him  say  to  my 
two  fellows,  "  Go  on  back  to  the  line ;  your  time's  not  up,  but 
you  are  relieved." 

When  he  reached  me,  he  put  Thompson  in  my  place,  and 
led  the  way  back  a  short  distance  and  into  the  edge  of  the 
woods. 

"Kow,  men,"  says  he;  ''we're  going  to  make  a  fort  of  that 
ravine.  We  want  to  fill  these  sand-bags,  and  we  want  some 
straw  or  something  to  screen  them.  Jones,  you  must  go 
twenty  yards  or  so  beyond  the  gully  till  I  whistle  for  you,  or 
call  you.     The  rest  of  us  will  do  the  work  while  you  watch." 

The  sergeant's  little  scheme  for  having  his  fun  was  now 
clear  enough.  One  of  the  party  had  brought  a  spade,  and  I 
noticed  that  others  seemed  to  have  come  up  in  no  light  march- 
ing order.  Willis  meant  to  occupy  the  ravine  and  remain  for 
the  day,  if  possible,  in  this  advanced  post,  so  near  the  rebels 
that  his  bullets  would  not  fall  short.  It  was  all  clear 
enough. 

The  party  had  begun  work  before  I  went  forward.  Pass- 
ing Thompson,  I  skirted  the  edge  of  the  woods,  and  went 
some  thirty  or  forty  yards  to  my  right  oblique  in  the  open, 
and  then  lay  flat,  with  my  eyes  to  the  front.  Soon  I  heard 
muffled  sounds  behind  me ;  the  men  were  filling  the  sand-bags. 
My  position  cramped  me,  my  neck  became  stiff.  No  sound 
reached  me  from  the  front ;  I  supposed  that  the  nearest  rebel 
vedette  was  not  nearer  than  two  hundred  yards,  unless  at  a 
point  more  advanced  from  his  lines  there  was  some  natural  pro- 
tection for  him.     But  what  prevented  my  being  surprised  from 


no  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

the  woods  on  my  left  ?  I  lay  flat  and  stiffened  my  neck ; 
light  was  beginning  to  show. 

At  length  I  heard  Willis  call  me,  and  I  didn't  make  him  call 
twice.  The  ravine,  as  the  light  became  greater,  showed  itself 
almost  impregnable  against  an  equal  force  of  skirmishers. 
Jnst  where  an  angle  in  the  western  edge  presented  a  flank 
of  wall  toward  the  north,  Willis  and  his  gang  had  cut  away 
the  earth  into  a  shelf  some  three  feet  beneath  the  top.  Ten 
sand-bags  filled  with  earth  surmounted  the  summit,  with  open 
spaces  between,  iu  order  that  a  musket  might  be  fired  through 
these  handy  port-holes,  and  the  sand-bags  were  covered  with 
sedge  from  the  open  field.  I  congratulated  our  commander  on 
his  engineering  feat. 

The  sun  had  risen,  perhaps,  but  the  fog  had  not  lifted ;  we 
could  yet  see  neither  enemy  nor  friend.  Willis  put  me  on  the 
right,  and  reserved  the  centre  for  his  own  piece ;  the  centre 
happened  to  be  about  two  feet  nearer  the  enemy.  Erom  left  to 
right  the  line  was  manned  by  Freeman,  Holt,  Willis,  Thomp- 
son, Berwick. 

"  Men,  attention !  "  says  Willis. 

"  Take  the  caps  off  of  your  pieces  ! " 

The  order  was  obeyed,  the  men  looking  puzzled.  Willis 
condescended  to  explain  that  we  must  fire  a  volley  into  a 
crowd  as  Act  First;  that  any  man  who  should  yield  to  the 
temptation  to  fire  without  orders,  was  to  be  sent  back  to  the 
line  at  once. 

Slowly  the  fog  began  to  break ;  the  day  would  be  fair.  Sud- 
denly a  bullet  whistled  overhead;  then  the  report  came  from 
the  rebel  side. 

"  Be  quiet,  men  ! "  says  Willis. 

Everybody  had  rushed  to  his  place. 

"  Eat  your  breakfast,"  says  Willis. 

We  had  no  coffee ;  otherwise  we  fared  as  usual. 

"  The  rebels  have  no  coffee,  neither,"  says  Willis. 

The  breakfast  was  being  rapidly  swallowed. 


FORT   WILLIS  111 

"  Hello,  there ! "  shouts  Willis,  and  springs  for  the  spade. 

Another  bullet  had  whistled  above  us,  this  one  from  our 
own  line  in  the  rear. 

The  spade  was  wielded  vigorously  by  willing  hands,  pass- 
ing from  one  to  another,  until  a  low  rampart,  but  thick, 
would  protect  our  heads  from  the  fire  of  our  skirmish  line. 
Meantime  the  fusillade  from  both  sides  continued. 

Willis  was  at  the  parapet. 

"  Look  out !  "  he  cries. 

A  shell  passed  just  above  us,  and  at  once  a  shower  of  bullets 
from  the  rebels. 

"  Here,  men,  quick  !  "  says  Willis. 

We  spra,ng  to  the  embrasures.  The  rebels  were  plainly 
visible  three  hundred  yards  away,  their  heads  distinct  above 
their  pits.  Our  skirmish  line  behind  us  seemed  gone;  the 
shell  had  been  fired  not  at  us  but  at  our  skirmishers,  and  the 
volley  we  had  heard  had  been  but  the  supplement  of  the  artil- 
lery fire  —  all  for  the  purpose  of  getting  full  command  of  our 
line,  on  which  not  a  man  now  dared  to  show  his  head,  for  a 
dozen  Minie  balls  would  go  for  it  at  the  moment.  Unquestion- 
ably the  rebels  had  not  detected  our  little  squad. 

"  Prime,  men  ! "  saj^s  Willis. 

The  guns  were  capped. 

"  Now,  hold  your  fire  till  the  word !  " 

Very  few  shots  were  now  coming.  The  rebels  were  having 
it  all  their  own  way,  nobody  replying  to  them.  Their  bodies 
to  their  waists  could  be  seen;  some  of  them  began  to  walk 
about  a  little,  for  they  were  not  in  any  sort  of  danger,  that 
is,  from  our  liue.  They  were  firing  with  a  system :  pit  No.  1 
would  send  a  ball,  then  in  ten  seconds,  pit  No.  2,  and  so  on 
down  their  line,  merely  to  keep  the  advantage  they  had  gained. 
At  irregular  intervals  two  or  three  shots  would  be  sent  at  some 
dummy  —  a  hat  or  coat  held  up  by  the  bayonets  of  men  behind 
the  pits  in  our  rear. 

"  Ready  I "  says  Willis. 


112  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

Three  men  were  in  a  group  between  two  of  the  pits.  Another 
joined  them. 

"Aim!     Fire  /" 

Five  triggers  were  pulled. 

"  Two  down,  by  the  — ! "  roared  Willis,  with  a  more  remark- 
able oath  than  any  I  ever  saw  in  print. 

The  wind  was  from  the  southeast,  and  the  smoke  had  rolled 
my  way ;  I  had  been  unable  to  see  the  result.  In  fact,  I  could 
hardly  see  anything.  Put  yourself  in  a  hole,  and  raise  your 
head  until  your  eyes  are  an  inch  or  two  above  the  surface  of 
ground  almost  level  —  what  can  you  see  ?  But  for  a  slight 
depression  between  us  and  the  rebels,  the  position  would  have 
been  worthless ;  yet  every  evil,  according  to  Dr.  Khayme,  has 
its  use,  or  good  side  —  our  fortress  was  hidden  from  the  enemy, 
who  would  mistake  it,  if  they  saw  it  at  all,  for  one  of  the  pits 
in  our  rear,  perspective  mingling  our  small  elevation  with  the 
greater  ones  beyond. 

We  had  leaped  back  into  the  ravine,  which  here  was  fully 
eight  feet  deep  and  roomy,  and  were  ramming  cartridges.  All 
at  once  a  rattle  of  firearms  was  heard  at  the  rear.  Our  skir- 
mish-line had  taken  advantage  of  the  diversion  brought,  and 
had  turned  the  tables ;  not  a  shot  was  coming  from  the  front. 

Freeman  looked  through  an  embrasure.  "Not  a  dam  one 
in  sight,"  he  said. 

Time  was  passing;  the  fire  of  our  skirmishers  continued; 
we  were  doing  nothing,  and  were  nervously  expectant. 

Holt  wished  for  a  pack  of  cards. 

A  council  of  war  was  held.  Thompson  was  fearful  of  our 
left;  a  gang  of  rebels  might  creep  through  the  woods  and  take 
us ;  we  were  but  sixty  yards  from  the  woods.  Willis  had  con- 
fidence that  our  line  could  protect  us  from  such  a  dash ;  "  they 
would  kill  every  man  of  'em  before  they  could  git  to  us."  To 
this  Thompson  replied  that  if  the  rebels  should  again  get  the 
upper  hand,  and  make  our  men  afraid  to  show  their  heads,  the 
rebels  could  come  on  us  from  the  woods  without  great  danger. 


FORT  WILLIS  113 

Willis  admitted  that  Thompson  had  reason,  but  did  not  think 
the  rebels  had  yet  found  us  out ;  at  any  rate,  they  would  be 
afraid  to  come  so  near  our  strong  skirmish-line;  so  for  his 
part,  he  wasn't  thinkin'  of  the  left ;  the  right  was  the  place  of 
danger  —  what  was  down  this  gully  nobody  knew;  the  rebels 
might  send  a  force  up  it,  but  not  yet,  for  they  didn't  know 
we  were  here. 

Again  a  rebel  shell  howled  above,  and  again  a  volley  from 
the  front  was  heard  as  bullets  sang  over  us,  and  our  men 
behind  us  became  silent. 

We  sprang  to  place,  every  eye  on  watch,  every  musket  in  its 
port-hole. 

"  Don't  waste  a  shot,  men,"  says  Willis ;  "  we're  not  goin'  to 
have  another  chance  like  that.  Take  it  in  order  from  right  to 
left.  Berwick  first.  Wait  till  a  man's  body  shows ;  don't 
shoot  at  a  head  —  " 

I  had  fired  —  Thompson  fired  immediately  after.  He  had 
seen  that  my  shot  missed.  Again  the  musketry  opened  behind 
us,  and  both  sides  pegged  away  for  a  while.  Thompson  claimed 
that  he  had  hit  his  man. 

Suddenly  a  loud  rap  was  heard  on  one  of  the  sand-bags,  — 
one  of  the  bags  between  Willis  and  Holt,  —  a  bullet  had  gone 
through  and  into  the  wall  of  the  ravine  behind  us.  Willis 
fired. 

"  Damnation ! "  says  he,  "  I  believe  they  see  us." 

Yet  it  was  possible  that  this  was  an  accident;  Holt  fired, 
and  then  Freeman,  and  it  became  my  turn  again. 

That  bullet  which  had  come  entirely  through  the  sand-bag 
and  buried  itself  deeply  in  the  ground,  gave  me  trouble.  I 
did  not  believe  that  an  ordinary  musket  had  such  force,  and  I 
doubted  whether  an  Enfield  had  it.  The  rebels  were  getting 
good  arms  from  England.  It  might  be  that  some  man  over 
there  had  a  Whitworth  telescopic  rifle ;  if  so,  he  had  detected 
us  perhaps  —  a  telescope  would  enable  him  to  do  it.  I  said 
nothing  of  this  speculation,  but  watched.     E-ebel  bullets  con- 


114  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

tinned  to  fly  over.  I  saw  a  man  as  low  as  his  waist  and  fired ; 
almost  at  the  same  moment  my  sand-bag  was  struck  —  the 
second  one  on  my  right,  which  protected  that  flank,  and  which 
the  bullet,  coming  from  the  left  oblique,  struck  endwise ;  the 
bullet  passed  through  the  length  of  the  bag  and  went  on  into 
the  wall  of  the  gully.     I  sprang  back  and  caught  up  the  spade. 

"  What's  up,  Jones  ?  "  asked  Willis. 

"  I'll  report  directly.  Sergeant." 

I  dug  at  least  two  feet  before  I  found  the  bullet ;  it  was  a 
long,  leaden  cylinder,  with  a  rounded  point  —  not  bigger  than 
calibre  45  I  guessed.  This  was  no  Enfield  bullet.  I  handed 
it  to  Willis  ;  he  understood. 

"  Can't  be  helped,"  says  he  ;  "  they  know  we're  here,  boys." 

The  danger  had  become  great;  perhaps  there  was  but  one 
Whitworth  over  there,  but  the  marksman  would  at  once  tell  the 
skirmishers  where  we  were  posted  ;  then  we  should  be  a  target 
for  their  whole  line,  and  at  three  hundred  yards  their  Enfields 
could  riddle  our  sand-bags  and  make  us  lie  low. 

Kap,  rap,  rap !  Three  sand-bags  were  hit,  and  Holt  was 
scratched  on  the  cheek.  The  bullets  struck  the  wall  behind; 
one  penetrated,  the  others  fell  into  the  ravine  —  they  were 
Enfield  bullets. 

Holt's  face  was  bleeding.  The  men  looked  gloomy ;  we  had 
had  our  fun. 

Willis  called  another  council.  His  speech  was  to  the  effect 
that  we  had  done  more  damage  than  we  had  received,  and 
should  receive ;  that  all  we  had  to  do  was  to  stay  in  the  ravine 
until  the  storm  should  pass ;  the  rebels  would  think  that  we 
were  gone  and  would  cease  wasting  their  ammunition;  then 
we  could  have  more  fun. 

Holt  said  bravely  that  he  was  not  willing  to  give  it  up  yet ; 
so  said  Thompson,  and  so  said  Freeman. 

My  vote  was  given  to  remain  and  wait  for  developments. 
At  this  moment  retreat  could  not  be  considered ;  we  could  not 
reach  the  edge  of  the  woods  under  sixty  yards;   somebody 


FORT   WILLIS  115 

would  be  struck  if  uot  killed;  it  was  doubtful  that  any  could 
escape  sound  and  wliole,  for  the  rebels,  if  they  had  any  sense, 
were  prepared  to  see  us  run  out,  and  would  throw  a  hundred 
shots  at  us.  If  our  line  could  ever  again  get  the  upper  hand 
of  the  rebels,  then  we  could  get  out  easily ;  if  not,  we  must 
stay  here  till  night.  We  had  done  all  that  could  be  done  — 
had  done  well,  and  we  must  not  risk  loss  without  a  purpose ; 
we  must  protect  ourselves  ;  let  the  rebels  waste  their  powder  — 
the  more  they  wasted,  the  better.  The  only  real  danger  was 
that  the  rebels  might  advance ;  but  even  if  they  did,  they 
could  not  get  at  us  without  coming  to  blows  with  our 
line  —  the  ravine  protected  our  line  from  their  charge.  It 
was  our  business  to  stay  where  we  were  and  to  keep  a  sharp 
lookout. 

So  it  was  ordered  by  Willis  that  while  the  storm  was  rag- 
ing we  should  keep  one  man  on  watch,  and  that  the  others 
should  stay  at  the  bottom  of  the  ravine.  Holt  boldly  claimed 
first  watch. 

The  four  of  us  were  sitting  in  the  sand ;  Holt's  head  was 
below  the  level  of  the  field ;  every  now  and  then  he  raised  his 
eyes  to  the  porthole.     Freeman  began  taking  off  his  coat. 

"  Gittin'  warm  ?  "  asked  Willis. 

"  I'm  the  man  to  show  you  a  trick,"  said  Freeman. 

He  hung  the  coat  on  the  iron  end  of  the  spade,  and  tied  his 
hat  above  on  a  stick ;  then  he  went  down  the  ravine  about  ten 
yards,  faced  us,  raised  his  dummy,  and  marched  quickly  toward 
us.  This  was  the  first  dummy  that  the  rebels  had  ever  seen 
march,  no  doubt;  at  any  rate  their  whole  force  was  at  once 
busy ;  the  fire  rolled  from  left  to  right  far  down  the  line,  yet 
when  Freeman  examined  his  garments  he  found  that  neither 
hat  nor  coat  had  been  struck. 

"You  see,"  said  Freeman,  "we  can  all  run  out  when  we 
want  to." 

ISToon  had  come ;  after  eating,  I  became  exceedingly  sleepy ; 
I  must  make  some  effort  to  keep  awake. 


116  WHO  GOES   THERE? 

"  Sergeant,"  I  said,  "  if  you  say  so,  I'll  go  down  the  gully  a 
little,  and  see  what's  there." 

"All  right,  Jones;  but  don't  go  far." 

I  soon  reached  a  turn  in  the  ravine  —  a  turn  to  the  right, 
toward  our  line.  I  went  on;  this  stretch  was  short;  the 
ravine  turned  toward  the  left,  getting  deeper  as  it  went;  again 
it  turned  to  the  left,  running  for  the  Warwick,  I  supposed  — 
certainly  running  straight  toward  the  rebels.  1  came  back 
and  reported. 

"  AVell,"  says  Willis,  "  if  they  come  on  us,  we'll  have  to  run. 
We  must  keep  two  sentinels  on  post  now." 

Thompson  was  posted  at  the  bend. 

It  was  difficult  to  believe  that  the  rebels  would  venture  up 
the  gully ;  they  could  not  know  how  small  was  our  force ; 
if  they  should  march  a  company  up  the  ravine,  the  company 
would  be  exposed  to  capture  by  a  sudden  rush  of  our  skir- 
mishers. It  was  probable,  however,  that  a  few  men  would 
try  to  sneak  up  in  order  to  see  how  many  we  were ;  yet  even 
this  supposition  was  not  necessary,  for  the  rebels  were  having 
everything  their  own  way,  and  need  risk  nothing.  So  I 
decided  in  my  own  mind  to  be  as  patient  as  possible  until 
dark. 

The  firing  on  both  sides  had  ceased,  except  that  an  occa- 
sional Whitworth  bullet  would  come  at  us,  fired  at  such  long 
range  that  we  could  not  hear  the  report ;  the  heads  of  the 
rebels  were  no  longer  seen.  What  were  they  planning  ?  I 
was  uneasy ;  I  wished  that  we  could  find  a  means  for  com- 
municating with  our  friends  in  the  rear ;  if  they  would  open 
fire  again,  we  might  rush  out.  Yet  after  all  it  was  best  to  be 
quiet  until  dark. 

I  relieved  Freeman  at  the  porthole ;  Holt  relieved  Thomp- 
son at  the  bend.  Since  eleven  o'clock  Fort  Willis  had  not 
fired  a  shot;  our  game  had  been  blocked.  The  notion  now 
came  to  me  that  if  the  rebels  wanted  us,  the  way  to  get  us 
would  be  to  send  men  up  the  ravine  just  before  dark,  and  at 


FORT  WILLIS  117 

the  same  time  for  a  squad  of  them  to  steal  through  the  woods 
to  our  left,  where  they  would  be  ready  for  us  when  we  should 
steal  out. 

"  Sergeant ! " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Think  we'd  better  get  back." 

"  What's  the  matter  now  ?  " 

"  Just  at  dark  is  the  time  for  the  rebels  to  catch  us." 

"  Fact,  by  — !  "  says  Willis. 

"  If  you  want  to  get  out,"  said  Freeman,  the  inventor,  "  I'm 
here  to  tell  you  how  to  do  it." 

"  Le's  have  it,"  says  Willis. 

"  Make  a  big  smoke  !  " 

Why  had  I  not  thought  of  that  expedient  ?  Between  us 
and  Holt,  down  at  the  bend,  there  was  brush  growing  on  the 
sides  of  the  ravine.  Our  knives  and  the  spade  were  put  to 
use ;  soon  we  had  a  big  heap  of  green  boughs  and  sprigs.  It 
would  take  work  to  touch  her  off,  for  there  was  no  dry  wood ; 
but  we  managed  by  finding  the  remains  of  cartridge  papers 
and  using  a  free  supply  of  gunpowder.  When  all  was  ready. 
Holt  was  recalled,  and  the  match  was  struck. 

"Now,  men,  to  your  portholes!"  says  Willis.  "We  must 
give  'em  a  partin'  salute." 

The  flame  was  long  in  catching.  Every  eye  was  alternately 
peeping  to  the  front  and  looking  anxiously  at  the  brush  heap. 
At  last  she  caught,  and  a  thin  column  of  black  smoke  began 
to  ascend. 

"  Be  sharp,  now  !  Them  rebs  will  want  to  know  what  we're 
up  to." 

A  few  curious  heads  could  be  seen,  but  no  shot  was  fired  at 
us,  or  by  us  at  them. 

The  smoke  increased,  but,  alas !  the  wind  was  wrong  and 
blew  it  away  from  the  woods. 

"  Hell  and  Tom  Walker !  "  says  Willis. 

But  heaven  —  which  he  had  not  appealed  to  —  had  decreed 


118  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

that  Fort  Willis  should  be  evacuated  under  her  own  auspices. 
Our  attention  had  been  so  fixed  upon  two  important  specks 
that  the  rest  of  the  universe  had  become  a  trivial  matter. 
A  sudden  clap  of  thunder  almost  overhead  startled  the  de- 
fenders of  the  redoubt.  Without  our  knowledge  a  storm  had 
rolled  up  from  the  Atlantic ;  the  rain  was  beginning  to  fall  in 
big  icy-cold  drops,  already  obscuring  our  vision. 

"  Fire ! ''  shouted  Willis. 

The  tempest  burst  in  fury,  and  the  gang  marched  bravely 
back  to  the  skirmish-line,  amidst  a  hail,  not  of  bullets,  but  of 
nature's  making. 


I 


XII 


MORE    ACTIVE    SERVICE 

"Do  but  start 
An  echo  with  the  clamour  of  thy  drum, 
And  even  at  hand  a  drum  is  ready  braced 
That  shall  reverberate  all  as  loud  as  thine." 

—  Shakespeake, 

Eaelt  on  the  morning  of  the  4th  of  May  loud  explosions 
were  heard  in  the  direction  of  Yorktown,  and  the  heavens 
glowed  with  the  light  of  great  fires.  At  sunrise  our  division 
got  orders  to  be  ready  to  march,  but  the  morning  wore  away, 
and  it  was  almost  two  o'clock  before  the  long  roll  beat.  At 
length  we  moved  with  the  column,  already  unnerved  by  long- 
continued  expectation,  Avestward  upon  the  Williamsburg  road. 

Willis  was  triumphant.  "  AVe  got  'em  now,  boys,"  says  he. 
"I  told  you  so." 

Lawler  responded  that  any  weather  prophet  would  get  rain 
if  he  kept  on  predicting  till  the  rain  came. 

The  mud  was  deep  and  heavy.  The  roads  had  been  horribly 
cut  up  by  the  retreating  rebels  and  by  our  cavalry  advancing 
ahead  of  us. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  we  came  to  a  long  halt ;  a  division 
had  come  into  our  road  from  the  left  and  was  now  advancing, 
blocking  our  way.  We  rested.  About  dark  our  head  of 
column  was  turned  back  and  we  countermarched,  and  halted, 
and  marched  again,  and  halted  again,  where,  I  do  not  know ; 
but  I  know  that  I  was  thoroughly  worn  out  when  orders  were 
given  that  the  men  should  lie  on  their  arms,  but  that  they 
should  otherwise   make   themselves  as   comfortable   as    they 

119 


120  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

could.  Rain  was  falling,  the  night  was  black,  comfort  was 
impossible.  I  suppose  I  got  two  or  three  hours'  sleep.  At 
daylight  the  march  was  again  taken  up ;  in  an  hour  or  two 
we  halted  and  formed  line  with  skirmishers  in  front ;  it  was 
still  raining. 

We  marched  the  length  of  the  regiment  by  the  right  flank, 
through  the  woods,  then  fronted  and  moved  forward,  with 
skirmishers  deployed  in  advance.  The  skirmishers  soon  be- 
came engaged.  Bullets  flew  amongst  us.  We  continued  to 
advance  until  we  reached  the  edge  of  the  woods ;  the  line  had 
not  yet  fired  a  shot. 

The  rebels  had  cut  down  the  timber  in  their  front ;  as  soon 
as  we  became  visible  they  began  throwing  shells  and  grape- 
shot  over  the  timber  at  our  ranks.  We  lay  down  and  took 
the  fire  and  the  rain.  We  lay  there  for  something  like  two 
hours  ;  then  we  moved  to  the  rear,  —  only  our  regiment,  I  think, 
—  fronted  again,  and  marched  to  the  right  for  perhaps  a  mile 
through  the  woods.  Willis  said  that  we  were  seeking  any 
enemy  that  might  be  in  the  woods ;  but  he  aroused  no  interest ; 
nobody  either  approved  or  seemed  to  doubt  Willis's  interpre- 
tation of  the  movement ;  we  did  not  know  what  the  generals 
were  doing  with  us,  and  we  were  tired  and  sleepy  and  hungry 
and  wet. 

By  twelve  o'clock  we  had  marched  back  to  our  former  posi- 
tion near  the  felled  timber.  Rain  continued  to  fall,  and  the 
hostile  batteries  to  fire  upon  each  other.  Wounded  men  were 
carried  to  the  rear.  I  noticed  that  our  company  seemed  small; 
perhaps  a  few  had  been  wounded ;  certainly  many  had  fallen 
out  of  ranks,  unable  longer  to  endure. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  we  were  moved  again, 
this  time  through  the  woods  to  the  left.  As  we  marched, 
we  could  hear  the  roar  of  musketry  ahead  of  us,  and  strag- 
gling men  could  be  seen  running  in  every  direction  except  one. 
We  moved  on  in  line,  without  skirmishers.  The  straggling 
men  increased  in  numbers,  and  many  wounded  went  past  us, 


MOEE  ACTIVE   SERVICE  121 

the  ambulance  corps  working  busily  here  in  the  dense  wet 
forest.  The  yells  of  the  rebels  were  plainly  heard,  and  all 
eyes  were  strained  to  catch  sight  of  what  was  already  but  too 
well  known.     Every  moment  was  an  hour. 

Suddenly  from  our  front  came  a  roar  and  a  crash,  and  our 
line  staggered  to  a  dead  halt,  every  man  firing  and  loading 
as  fast  as  he  could  —  firing  at  a  line  of  smoke  ahead  of  us. 
Great  shouts  could  be  heard  in  the  smoke ;  occasionally,  in  some 
momentary  diminution  in  our  own  strife,  there  could  be  faintly 
heard  the  noise  of  battle  to  our  right,  far  and  near  to  our 
right. 

Men  were  falling  fast.  All  at  once  I  heard  Willis  roar, 
"  Eire  to  the  left,  men  !  fire  to  the  left ! "  A  great  turmoil 
ensued;  officers  cried,  "They  are  our  men!"  Willis  again 
shouted  :  "  Fire  on  that  line,  men  !  They  are  rebels  !  They 
are  rebels ! "  and  he  succeeded  in  convincing  most  of  us  that 
he  was  right.  Then  the  cry  rose  :  "  We  are  flanked  !  "  "  Look 
out ! "  "  Flanked !  "  "  Here  they  come !  "  and  then  the 
whole  crowd  of  us  were  running  with  all  our  legs.  I  reached 
a  road  that  ran  across  the  line  of  my  flight ;  it  was  full  of 
everything :  troops  in  good  order,  stragglers  breaking  through 
them,  wounded  lying  down,  dead  flat  on  their  backs,  artillery 
horses  in  their  traces,  ambulances. 

So  far  as  we  were  concerned,  the  fight  was  over ;  fresh  troops 
had  relieved  us,  and  the  rebels  came  no  farther.  It  was 
night,  and  the  battle  soon  ended  on  the  whole  line. 

With  difficulty  I  found  my  regiment  and  company.  We  lay 
in  the  woods  ;  the  rain  kept  on. 

I  have  understood  that  the  battle  of  Williamsburg  is  con- 
sidered a  victory  for  our  side.  I  must  confess  that  I  did  not 
know  that  we  had  won  it  until  I  was  so  informed,  although 
I  was  certainly  in  the  battle.  The  rebels  fought  this  partial 
engagement  only  for  the  purpose,  I  think,  of  securing  the 
retreat  of  their  army  and  trains ;  we  fought  for  the  purpose 
of  preventing  the  retreat.     I  have  learned  that  our  right  wing 


122  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

had  better  success  than  we  had  on  the  left ;  but  for  all  that, 
the  enemy  got  away  unbroken,  and  his  purpose  was  accom- 
plished. In  the  days  of  those  early  battles,  even  the  falling 
back  of  the  rebel  pickets  before  a  line  of  our  skirmishers  was 
telegraphed  to  Washington  as  a  victory. 

We  lay  on  the  wet  ground ;  our  sufferings  were  not  small. 
Willis's  remark,  that  the  rebels  too  were  wet,  didn't  seem  to 
bring  much  comfort;  even  his  assertion,  that  they  would 
again  retreat  and  that  the  morning  would  find  them  gone, 
called  forth  no  enthusiasm.  The  men  were  dispirited ;  they 
knew  very  well  that  they  had  fought  hard  and  had  endured 
with  the  stoutness  of  good  soldiers,  but  they  were  physically 
exhausted,  and,  above  all,  they  felt  that  somebody  had  blun- 
dered in  putting  them  unnecessarily  into  an  awkward  place. 
I  have  always  been  proud  that  none  of  our  men  deserted  on 
the  night  of  the  Williamsburg  battle. 

No  fires  could  be  made.  Willis  and  I  ate  a  little  and  lay 
down.  My  gum-blanket  was  laid  on  the  wet  ground,  with  my 
blanket  on  top ;  this  was  our  bed.  Our  covering  was  Willis's 
blanket  and  gum-blanket.  The  night  was  warm  enough,  and 
our  covering  was  needed  only  as  some  protection  against  the 
rain.  I  was  soon  asleep,  but  awake  again  as  soon.  About  ten 
o'clock  I  felt  a  hand  on  my  shoulder.  Rising,  I  saw  our 
orderly-sergeant ;  a  man  was  standing  by  him.  I  was  ordered 
to  report  at  General  Grover's  headquarters.  The  general  had 
sent  an  orderly,  who  could  not  or  would  not  tell  why  I  was 
wanted. 

General  Grover  was  in  the  centre  of  a  group  of  officers,  sur- 
rounding a  dim  lantern  which  was  on  the  ground  at  the  root 
of  a  large  tree ;  horses  were  tied  near  by  to  the  branches  of 
trees. 

The  orderly  saluted,  pointed  to  me,  and  retired  a  few  yards. 

The  general  came  toward  me ;  I  saluted. 

"  Your  name,"  said  he. 

"Private  Jones  Berwick." 


MORE  ACTIVE   SEEVICE  123 

*'  Your  regiment." 

"  Eleventh." 

"  Dr.  Khayme  has  spoken  of  you." 

I  bowed. 

"  Are  you  willing  to  undertake  a  hazardous  duty  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  do  my  duty,  General ;  but  I  don't  hanker  after 
danger,"  said  I. 

"A  prudent  answer,"  said  he  ;  ''come  here." 

He  led  the  way  toward  the  lantern,  the  group  of  officers 
scattering. 

"  The  whole  matter  is  this,"  said  the  general,  "  each  brigade 
must  send  a  man  to  the  front  to  observe  the  enemy.  Will  you 
go  for  this  brigade  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  said ;  "  I  ought  to,  if  you  so  command." 

" There  is  no  compulsion,"  said  he ;  "a  man  who  objects  to 
going  should  not  be  allowed  to  go." 

"  My  objections,  General,  are  not  strong  enough  to  make  me 
decline." 

"  Then  let  us  understand  each  other.  Do  this  for  me  and 
you  shall  lose  nothing  by  it.  All  proper  favours  shall  be  shown 
you  if  you  do  your  duty  well.  Extra  duty  demands  extra 
privilege." 

"  Can  I  see  Dr.  Khayme  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Ko,  not  to-night;  he  attends  the  right  wing.  Now,  Ber- 
wick, let  me  show  you." 

He  bent  down  by  the  lantern  and  was  about  to  sit,  when  an 
officer  stepped  before  and  spread  a  gum-blanket  on  the  ground, 
and  placed  the  lantern  near  the  blanket. 

"  Thanks,  Hibbert,"  said  General  Grover. 

The  general  took  a  map  from  one  of  his  aides,  and  spread  it 
on  the  blanket.     It  was  a  mere  sketch  —  a  very  few  lines. 

"  Here  is  our  position,"  said  he,  making  a  mark  with  a  pen- 
cil; "you  see  our  line  here,  running  north  and  south." 

"  Which  is  north  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Here,  this  way.      We  are  in  these  woods ;  the  rebels  are 


124  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

over  here,  or  were  there  at  last  accounts.  Our  picket-line  is 
along  this  branch,  in  part.  I  want  you  to  go  through  our 
pickets,  and  get  across  the  branch,  and  go  on  through  the 
woods  until  you  come  to  this  road,  which  you  see  running 
north  and  south.  You  need  not  go  across  this  road.  All  I 
want  you  to  do  is  to  observe  this  road  until  day." 

"  Is  the  road  in  the  woods,  General  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  but  I  think  it  is.  You  will  have  no 
trouble  whatever,  unless  the  rebels  have  their  pickets  on  this 
side  of  the  road,"  said  he. 

"  But  in  case  the  rebels  are  on  this  side  of  the  road,  what 
shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  It  may  be  that  their  skirmishers  are  in  the  road,  and  their 
vedettes  near  the  branch ;  in  that  case  get  as  near  as  possible 
to  the  road.  If  they  are  on  this  side  of  the  road,  but  so  near 
the  road  that  you  can  observe  it  with  eye  or  ear,  why,  observe 
it  with  as  little  risk  to  yourself  as  possible.  If  bodies  of 
troops  move  on  the  road,  you  must  come  back  to  the  picket- 
line  and  report,  and  then  return  to  your  post  of  observation." 

"  Would  it  not  be  well  to  have  an  intermediate  man  between 
me  and  our  picket-line  ?  " 

*'  A  good  idea,  sir.  We'll  get  the  captain  of  the  pickets  to 
supply  one." 

"  And  now.  General,  suppose  that  the  rebel  pickets  are  much 
this  side  of  the  road." 

"  Then  use  your  discretion,  but  observe  that  road  this  night. 
Take  your  own  way  to  do  it,  but  the  road  must  be  observed." 

"  How  far  do  the  woods  stretch  beyond  the  road.  General  ?  " 

"  If  this  sketch  can  be  relied  on,  not  more  than  three  hun- 
dred yards,"  said  he ;  "  but  it  will  not  do  to  rely  on  this  piece 
of  paper." 

*'  May  I  not  run  foul  of  some  man  of  ours  sent  out  by  one  of 
the  other  brigades,  General  ?  " 

"  i^ot  likely ;  each  brigade  sends  in  its  own  front,  and  you 
will  hardly  find  that  any  man  will  be  so  enterprising  as  to  try 


MORE  ACTIVE   SERVICE  125 

to  do  our  duty  for  us ;  still,  you  must  avoid  any  chance  of  a 
collision  such  as  you  speak  of." 

"  How  shall  I  get  through  our  own  pickets,  General  ?  " 

"  My  courier  will  see  you  through,"  said  he.  "  No ;  I  will 
see  you  through.  I  want  to  see  our  line  again,  and  I  will  go 
with  you." 

"  Suppose  the  brigade  moves  while  I  am  at  the  front,  and  I 
can't  find  you  when  I  get  back." 

"Then  make  your  report  to  the  picket  that  relieves  ours, 
and  get  back  to  us  as  soon  as  you  can.  Our  pickets  will  tell 
those  that  relieve  them  about  you." 

"  Suppose  I  find  a  movement  in  progress  and  can  follow  it," 
said  I. 

"Follow  it  as  long  as  you  wish,  only  be  sure  to  report 
through  the  other  man.      Is  everything  clear  to  you  now  ?  " 

"Yes,  General;  I  think  so." 

"  Then  return  to  your  company  and  get  ready ;  be  back  in 
ten  minutes." 

I  was  back  in  ten  minutes.  I  had  decided  to  go  entirely 
unarmed,  and  I  was  hoping  that  the  men  of  the  other  brigades 
would  have  as  much  consideration  for  me,  as  I  did  not  think 
it  very  unlikely  that  I  should  run  against  one  of  them  in  the 
darkness.  I  put  my  gum-blanket  over  me,  committed  my 
knapsack  and  other  things  to  Willis's  keeping,  and  was  back 
with  the  general. 

We  found  that  our  pickets  were  not  on  the  branch  which 
the  general  had  shown  me  on  the  map,  or  on  any  branch.  A 
brief  conversation  took  place  between  the  general  and  Captain 
Brown  of  the  picket-line.  The  captain  chose  a  man,  and  told 
him  to  follow  me  and  to  obey  my  orders. 

Then  the  general  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder.  "  Take  care 
of  yourself,  my  man,"  said  he ;  "  but  get  to  that  road ;  be  sure 
that  you  report  any  movement  on  that  road."  I  began  to 
assure  him  that  I  would  do  all  that  I  could,  but  I  found  that 
he  had  already  started  back  to  the  brigade. 


126  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

I  asked  Captain  Brown  to  warn  all  his  men  not  to  fire  on 
me  when  I  should  return.  The  low  call  went  right  and  left 
along  the  line,  —  "  Two  of  our  men  going  to  the  front ! " 

"  Where  are  your  vedettes  ?  "  I  asked  of  Captain  Brown. 

"The  line  itself  is  on  extreme  duty,"  said  he;  "the  vedettes 
are  only  thirty  yards  in  front ;  we  posted  the  relief  not  half  an 
hour  ago." 

I  had  already  observed  by  the  light  of  General  Grover's 
lantern,  which  his  orderly  had  discreetly  held  in  reserve  some 
ten  paces  or  more,  that  the  picket-line  was  a  double  one,  that 
is  to  say,  two  men  to  every  five  paces,  and  that  every  man  was 
standing  in  his  place,  gun  in  hand,  —  behind  trees  the  most 
of  them,  —  and  with  their  faces  to  the  front.  There  were  no 
picket  fires. 

"  How  many  vedettes  are  there  ?     How  thick  are  they  ?  " 

"  One  every  twenty  yards,"  said  he ;  "  I  will  relieve  them 
with  new  men  in  half  an  hour,  or  a  little  more;  an  hour  is 
long  enough  for  such  duty.  The  new  men  will  be  advised  that 
you  are  still  in  front.     Are  you  ready  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"Come." 

The  three  of  us  —  Captain  Brown  leading,  I  following  him, 
and  the  detailed  man,  Allen,  coming  after  —  went  forward  to  a 
vedette.  The  captain  spoke  some  words  to  him  in  a  whisper, 
and  then  went  back  to  the  picket-line.  I  now  observed  that 
Allen  had  brought  his  gun.  I  say  observed,  for  I  did  not  see 
the  gun ;  my  hand  happened  to  touch  it.  I  asked  Allen  to  go 
back  and  leave  his  piece  at  the  picket-line ;  while  he  was  gone 
I  spoke  in  whispers  to  the  vedette.  He  had  heard  nothing  in 
his  front,  except  that  now  and  then  there  seemed  to  come  to 
him,  from  far  away,  an  indistinct  rumble  ;  he  had  seen  nothing 
in  the  black  night  except  trees  but  little  blacker.  The  rain 
was  a  thick  drizzle. 

I  warned  the  vedette  to  be  very  careful  in  case  he  heard 
anything  in  his  front,  lest  he  fire  on  a  friend.     He  said  that 


MORE  ACTIVE   SERVICE  127 

the  vedettes  had  orders  not  to  fire,  but  to  retire  at  once  on  the 
picket-line  in  case  of  a  silent  advance  of  the  enemy.  This 
peculiar  order,  which  at  a  later  time  I  heard  given  again  under 
somewhat  similar  circumstances,  was  no  doubt  a  wise  one.  A 
secret  advance  of  the  enemy's  skirmishers  would  have  been 
precipitated  into  a  charge  by  the  fire  of  the  vedette,  whereas 
his  secret  retreat  to  his  line  would  prepare  the  pickets  to  sur- 
prise the  surprisers. 

And  now,  with  Allen  just  behind  me,  I  went  forward.  The 
woods  were  so  dense  and  the  night  so  dark  that  it  was  useless 
to  try  to  see  ahead  of  me.  The  only  thing  to  do  was  to  feel 
my  way.  I  supposed  that  the  branch  which  I  was  to  cross  was 
but  a  very  short  distance  in  front.  I  had  no  fear  that  I  should 
find  enemies  this  side  of  the  branch  ;  the  great  probability  was 
that  their  vedettes  were  posted  on  the  farther  bank  of  the 
stream.  When  I  had  gone  not  more  than  thirty  yards,  I  felt 
that  the  ground  sloped  downward  before  me,  and  I  judged  that 
the  branch  was  very  near.  I  paused.  There  was  not  a  sound 
except  that  made  by  the  fall  of  heavy  drops  of  water  from  the 
leaves  of  the  trees.  I  strained  my  eyes,  trying  to  see  in  front. 
Allen  was  but  three  paces  behind  me,  yet  I  could  not  see  his 
form.  I  stepped  back  to  where  he  was,  and  asked  in  a  low 
whisper  if  he  could  see  at  all. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  I  can  see  a  little.  I  can  make  out  where 
you  stand." 

I  told  him  that  we  ought  to  be  now  very  near  a  branch,  and 
that  the  branch  ought  to  make  a  slight  gap  in  the  woods  and 
a  little  more  light.  He  whispered  back  that  there  was,  he 
thought,  more  light  in  our  front  than  there  had  been  before. 
I  now  tried  to  discern  this  new  light,  and  could  not  at  first, 
but  after  a  little  while  it  did  seem  to  me  that  just  ahead  there 
was  a  dim  gray  streak. 

I  made  one  step  forward  —  paused  —  then  another  step; 
another,  and  I  felt  my  foot  in  the  water.  The  gray  streak 
had  widened.     I  made  a  step  back,  and  caught  Allen  by  the 


128  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

hand.  Then  I  went  forward,  holding  Allen's  hand.  But  I 
wanted  to  speak  to  Allen,  and  feared  to  do  so.  We  went  back 
again,  some  three  steps,  until  I  was  out  of  the  water. 

Allen  was  always  a  little  in  my  rear,  even  when  we  were 
hand-in-hand.     He  whispered,  "  It  is  ten  steps  wide." 

"  Can  you  see  across  it  ?  " 

"  I  think  so.     I  think  the  trees  are  lower  over  there." 

In  all  my  experience  as  a  soldier  I  think  that  I  never  felt 
myself  in  a  more  critical  place.  The  opposite  side  of  the 
branch  was  an  ideal  position  for  the  rebel  vedettes.  They 
ought  to  be  there  if  anywhere  in  these  woods.  Still,  they,  as 
well  as  we,  might  have  neglected  their  opportunity ;  besides, 
their  line  might  be  bent  back  here ;  their  vedettes  might  be  on 
the  branch  farther  to  our  right,  and  here  might  be  anywhere 
in  its  rear ;  we  did  not  know  where  the  rebel  right  rested.  Of 
one  thing  I  felt  sure  —  the  rebels  did  not  intend  to  advance  on 
this  night,  for  in  that  case  they  would  have  had  their  vedettes, 
and  their  pickets  also,  if  possible,  on  our  side  of  the  branch. 

The  thing  had  to  be  done.  I  must  risk  crossing  the  branch. 
If  vedettes  were  on  it,  it  was  just  within  the  possible  that  I 
might  pass  between  two  of  them. 

I  whispered  to  Allen  that  I  wanted  a  stick ;  he  already  had 
one,  which  he  put  into  my  hand.  Then  I  told  him  to  take 
hold  of  my  coat,  lest  my  foot  should  slip ;  the  noise  of  a  splash 
might  have  caused  utter  failure,  if  not  our  capture. 

We  reached  the  water  again.  I  felt  before  me.  The  end  of 
the  stick  seemed  to  sink  into  soft  mud. 

I  made  another  step  forward.  I  was  up  to  my  ankles  in 
mud,  up  to  my  knees  in  water. 

I  made  another  step ;  the  water  rose  to  my  thighs. 

Again  a  step ;  the  water  was  no  deeper,  and  I  felt  no  mud 
under  my  feet.     I  thought  I  had  reached  the  middle. 

I  paused  and  listened.  I  was  afraid  to  speak  to  Allen.  The 
same  monotonous  dropping  of  water  • —  nothing  more. 

We  went  forward,  and  got  to  the  farther  bank,  which  seemed 


MOEE  ACTIVE   SERVICE  129 

steep.  By  feeling  right  and  left,  I  found  a  foothold.  I  loosed 
Allen's  hand  from  my  coat,  and  stood  on  the  bank.  Allen  was 
in  the  water  below  me. 

I  looked  around,  for  I  could  now  see  a  little.  I  could  easily 
tell  that  there  were  no  trees  over  my  head.  I  seemed  to  be 
surrounded  by  a  dense,  low  thicket.  What  was  in  this 
thicket  ?     Likely  the  rebel  vedettes  and  pickets. 

My  hand  inadvertently  came  in  contact  with  a  stump.  I 
could  feel  the  smooth  surfaces  left  by  an  axe.  The  tree  itself 
was  lying  there,  but  not  entirely  cut  from  its  stump.  I  could 
feel  the  splintered  middle  of  the  tree,  still  holding.  I  at  once 
knew  that  I  was  in  the  midst  of  felled  timber,  —  on  the  edge 
of  a  slashing  or  entanglement. 

Were  the  rebel  vedettes  in  this  felled  timber  ?  Most 
unlikely,  unless  there  were  alleyways  open  for  their  retreat. 
But  perhaps  the  strip  of  timber  was  very  narrow,  and  the 
rebel  vedettes  were  just  in  rear  of  it;  perhaps  it  was  cut  only 
along  the  margin  of  the  branch,  and  in  order  to  impede  and 
expose  to  hearing  any  enemy  that  might  succeed  in  crossing 
the  branch.  But,  in  that  case,  would  not  the  timber  be  a  pro- 
tection rather  than  a  hindrance  to  the  enemy  advancing  or 
stealing  forward  ?  Yes,  unless  the  vedettes  were  just  in  rear 
of  this  very  narrow  strip,  or  unless  the  rebel  intrenchments 
were  in  easy  musket  range. 

These  thoughts  went  through  my  mind  while  I  was  on  the 
bank  with  Allen  below  me.  I  hesitated.  Beyond  this  skirt 
of  felled  timber  there  might  be  capture,  or  death,  or  there 
might  be  no  danger  whatever.  I  was  beginning  to  hope  that 
there  was  no  vedette  or  picket-line  in  these  woods. 

Whispering  to  Allen  to  remain  where  he  was,  I  crept  for- 
ward ;  after  having  made  some  ten  paces  through  the  entan- 
glement, I  paused  and  listened.  There  was  not  a  sound.  I 
crept  back  to  Allen,  and,  giving  him  my  hand,  helped  him  up 
the  bank.  Then  we  both  went  forward  until  I  supposed  we 
were  near  the  spot  to  which  I  had  previously  advanced.     Allen 


130  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

was  now  signalled  to  stop,  while  I  crept  on  again,  and  again 
returned  to  him  ;  then  both  went  forward  as  before.  On  this 
second  stage  of  our  approach  we  passed  through  to  the  farther 
side  of  the  felled  timber. 

We  were  now  on  the  edge  of  woods  still  standing.  I 
feared  every  moment  lest  we  should  be  detected  by  some 
vedette.  The  enemy's  works  ought  to  be  very  near ;  neither 
spoke  to  the  other ;  abatis  without  intrenchments  was  not  to 
be  thought  of.  Yet  I  was  hoping  to  find  the  intrenchments 
deserted. 

The  rain  had  almost  entirely  ceased.  The  night  was  grow- 
ing. We  had  used  up  at  least  an  hour's  time,  and  had  made 
an  advance  of  less  than  two  hundred  yards. 

I  moved  forward  again — -and  back  —  alternately  alone  and 
with  Allen  forward  —  until  at  length  I  reached  a  road  running 
across  my  line  of  progress. 

After  listening  again  intently  and  hearing  nothing,  I  got 
down  on  my  hands  and  knees  and  crawled  across  the  road.  I 
could  tell  with  my  hands  that  the  road  was  cut  up  with  ruts, 
and  what  I  supposed  were  horses'  tracks,  but  it  was  impossi- 
ble for  me  to  know  which  way  the  tracks  headed. 

Beyond  the  road  the  woods  continued;  I  crawled  on  for 
thirty  or  forty  yards,  and  found  nothing. 

Then  I  returned  to  Allen,  and  speaking  low  I  asked  him, 
"  What  do  you  think  that  skirt  of  felled  timber  means  ?  " 

"  It  means  breastworks  over  there  in  the  woods,"  said  he. 

''  Biit  I  have  been  at  least  thirty  yards  beyond  the  road  and 
there  is  nothing.  I  am  beginning  to  believe  that  there  is  not 
a  rebel  left  in  these  woods." 

''Then,"  said  he,  "the  timber  was  cut  down  with  the  in- 
tention of  fortifying,  and  afterward  the  intention  was  aban- 
doned." 

"  Or  else  it  was  cut  down  as  a  blind,"  said  I ;  "  likely 
enough  its  purpose  was  merely  to  keep  troops  on  this  road 
from  being  seen." 


MORE  ACTIVE   SERVICE  131 

"Still,"  said  lie,  "they  may  be  back  farther  in  the  woods." 

I  did  not  believe  it.  If  this  felled  timber  defended  the 
approach  to  a  rebel  line,  we  were  near  enough  to  the  line  to 
hear  many  noises.  The  only  thing  I  now  feared  was  some 
scouting  party. 

It  was  necessary  to  run  some  risk ;  even  if  we  should  be 
fired  upon,  I  decided  that  we  must  learn  which  way  the  move- 
ment on  the  road  had  been.  I  had  Allen  take  off  his  cap, 
and  while  I  lighted  a  match  near  the  ground,  he  held  his  cap 
over  it,  and  we  both  looked  with  all  our  eyes,  moving  the 
match  back  and  forth  over  the  road.  The  tracks  all  headed 
to  our  right. 

Then  we  both  stepped  quickly  to  the  farther  side  of  the 
road. 

"  Allen,"  said  I,  "  you  must  stay  here  till  I  return." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Through  the  woods." 

"  How  long  will  you  be  gone  ?  " 

"  A  very  short  time.  If  I  am  not  back  in  fifteen  minutes, 
you  must  return  to  the  pickets  and  report  that  there  has 
already  been  a  considerable  movement  on  the  road,  and  that  no 
enemy  is  here.  I  feel  certain  that  there  are  no  rebels  in  these 
woods.  They  were  here,  but  they  have  gone.  I  want  to  get 
to  the  open  ground  and  see  what  is  there ;  it  will  not  take 
long." 

"  I'm  afraid  that  you  can't  see  to  make  your  way  back  to 
this  spot,"  said  he. 

" I  may  be  compelled  to  whistle  for  you,"  said  I ;  "if  there 
is  nobody  in  these  woods,  there  is  no  danger  in  my  whistling." 

"  Better  take  me  with  you,"  said  Allen ;  "  two  pairs  of  eyes 
are  better  than  one." 

"  That  is  true,"  I  replied,  "  but  some  accident  might  happen 
to  both  of  us  out  there,  and  neither  of  us  be  able  to  report  to 
General  Grover.     Stay  where  you  are." 

I  tried  to  go  forward  in  a  straight  line  so  that  I  should  be 


132  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

able  to  turn  square  about  and  make  my  way  back  to  Allen. 
The  woods  became  more  open  as  I  went.  The  rain  had  ceased, 
and  I  could  see  much  better.  I  reached  the  edge  of  the 
woods,  and  looked  out.  A  few  stars  were  shining  between 
broken  clouds  near  the  horizon  in  front  of  me  —  west,  I 
thought.  Toward  the  north  and  northwest  the  clouds  re- 
flected some  distant  light,  and  had  a  reddish  glow.  I  could 
distinctly  hear  the  sounds  of  great  movements,  the  rumblings 
of  wagon  trains  or  artillery.  The  ground  seemed  open  before 
me  for  a  long  distance. 

I  went  rapidly  back  toward  Allen,  whistling.  He  came  to 
meet  me. 

"Now,  Allen,"  said  I,  "your  part  of  this  business  is  about 
over.  Go  back  to  Captain  Brown  and  ask  him  to  report  at 
once  to  General  Grover  that  the  road  shows  clearly  that  the 
rebels  have  already  moved  along  it  to  their  left,  our  right ; 
and  that  there  is  nobody  here,  all  gone ;  gone  to  our  right, 
their  left,  and  that  I  have  been  entirely  through  the  woods, 
and  have  found  nothing ;  but  that  to  the  northwest  there  are 
the  sounds  of  great  movements,  and  that  I  am  going  to  see  if 
I  cannot  find  out  more." 

"  Then  what  am  I  to  do  after  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Nothing;  remain  with  your  company.  I  shall  not  need 
you,  for  I  doubt  if  I  get  back  before  day,  and  there  is  nothing 
for  me  to  fear  in  this  place." 

Allen  started  one  way  and  I  another.  It  was  now  about 
two  o'clock,  I  thought ;  the  sky  was  almost  clear,  and  I  could 
see  about  me.  I  passed  rapidly  through  the  woods  again  and 
into  the  open  ground,  climbing  a  rail  fence,  and  went  up  a 
very  gentle  slope  that  rose  before  me,  an  "  old  field,"  or  aban- 
doned farm,  which  was  scattered  over  here  and  there  with 
clumps  of  stunted  growth.  Once  I  paused  in  terror.  A  bush 
had  taken,  to  my  fancy,  the  form  of  a  man.  The  illusion 
lasted  but  for  a  moment. 

When  I  had  reached  the  highest  part  of  this  undulation,  I 


MORE  ACTIVE   SERVICE  133 

could  see  many  lights  —  some  of  them  in  motion,  but  most  of 
fehem  stationary.  The  sounds  of  a  moving  army  were  distinct ; 
t  could  hear  shouts,  like  those  of  teamsters,  and  once  I  thought 
I  could  catch  the  command  to  close  up. 

I  went  on,  down  a  gentle  descent,  and  into  a  ravine  which 
was  difficult  to  cross,  and  up  the  rise  beyond.  Between  me 
and  the  red  glare  I  could  distinguish  objects,  and  I  knew  that 
if  there  were  rebels  in  line  before  me,  I  should  be  able  to  see 
them  before  they  could  see  me,  so  I  went  on  without  great 
fear,  and  crept  to  the  top  of  this  second  swell  of  the  ground. 

Here  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  rebels  were  retreat- 
ing. The  road  was  full  of  them  not  four  hundred  yards  from 
me.  Fires  were  burning  on  both  sides  of  the  road ;  men  and 
wagons  were  hurrying  westward.  Almost  in  front  of  me 
was  a  cluster  of  houses,  which  I  took  to  be  Williamsburg; 
fires  were  burning  in  the  streets ;  a  great  throng  was  passing 
on  west  between  the  fires  and  between  the  houses.  I  had 
little  doubt  that  I  could  mingle,  without  great  danger,  with 
the  rebels,  seeing  that  my  gum-blanket  would  hide  my  uni- 
form, and  was  tempted  to  do  so ;  the  thought  was  rejected, 
however ;  time  was  lacking ;  it  would  soon  be  day ;  I  knew 
enough  already ;  I  could  not  hope  to  learn  from  the  rebels 
much  more  than  I  now  knew,  and  every  step  farther  away 
from  our  lines  would  doubly  delay  my  report.  So  I  turned 
my  back  upon  Williamsburg  and  hurried  toward  our  pickets. 

When   I   reached   the   road  again,    day   was   breaking.     A 
vedette  had  been  advanced  to  the  branch  by  Captain  Brown. 
I  hurried  on  and  made  my  report  to  General  Grover.     He  at 
once  called  a  courier,  who  mounted  and  rode  off  in  haste. 
******* 

On  the  morning  of  the  6th,  the  happiest  man  in  the  line 
was  Willis.  Everybody  was  glad  that  the  enemy  had  retired ; 
but  Willis  was  bubbling  over  with  the  joy  of  foresight  ful- 
filled. He  rode  a  high  horse ;  the  rebels  would  make  no 
further  stand  until  they  reached  Richmond;  he  doubted  if 


134  WHO   GOES  THEKE  ? 

they  would  attempt  to  defend  Richmond,  even.  His  spirits 
were  contagious ;  he  did  good  although  he  was  ludicrous. 
"What  would  Dr.  Khayme  have  said  of  Willis's  influence  ? 
I  supposed  that  the  Doctor  would  have  iised  the  sergeant  as 
an  illustration  of  his  doctrine  that  there  is  nothing  unneces- 
sary or  false ;  certainly  Willis  encouraged  us. 

The  weather  was  better  and  the  day's  work  not  hard.  We 
moved  but  a  short  distance,  and  bivouacked. 

About  noon  I  was  aroused  from  sleep  by  an  order  to  report 
to  Colonel  Blaisdell.  I  had  no  notion  of  what  was  wanted  of 
me.  I  had  never  before  been  individually  in  his  presence.  I 
wondered  what  it  meant,  and  hastened  to  his  headquarters. 

I  saluted ;  the  colonel  returned  the  salute. 

"  You  are  Private  Berwick  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  Colonel." 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  ?  " 

"  In  what  respect,  Colonel  ?  " 

"  You  have  been  absent  from  your  company."  His  voice 
was  gruff,  but  his  eye  and  mouth  belied  his  voice. 

"Here,"  said  he:  "take  this  and  read  it." 

I  read  the  following :  "  Private  Jones  Berwick,  Company  D, 
Eleventh  Massachusetts  Volunteers,  is  relieved,  until  further 
orders^  from  duty  with  his  company,  and  will  hold  himself 
ready  for  special  service  when  ordered." 

This  order  was  signed  by  Colonel  Blaisdell,  and  approved 
by  General  Grover. 


XIII 

JONES  ON  THE  BLACK  HORSE 

"Take  all  the  swift  advantage  of  the  hours."  — Shakespeare. 

At  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  this  6th  of  May, 
I  was  again  aroused  from  sleep,  this  time  by  an  order  to  report 
to  the  adjutant  of  the  Eleventh.  He  informed  me  that  he  was 
aware  of  General  Grover's  order  relieving  me  from  regular 
duty  —  in  fact,  had  himself  written  the  order  by  command  of 
Colonel  Blaisdell,  who  had  been  asked  to  issue  it  by  our  brig- 
ade commander.  The  adjutant  also  told  me  that  I  should  still 
get  rations  through  Company  D,  but  that  I  was  free  to  go  and 
come  when  not  on  special  duty,  and  that  I  was  expected  to 
keep  him  advised  of  my  goings,  so  that  I  could  be  found  when 
wanted.  "  For  the  rest,"  said  he,  "  you  will  do  much  as  you 
wish,  especially  when  the  brigade  is  in  reserve,  as  it  is 
to-day,  and  as  it  is  likely  to  be  for  a  good  many  days  to  come. 
Your  services  to  be  required  at  long  intervals  will  make  up,  it 
is  hoped,  for  your  exemption  from  regular  duty." 

I  thanked  him  and  retired.  I  had  learned  that  Dr.  Khayme 
was  on  the  right,  and  at  once  set  out  to  find  him,  traversing 
much  of  the  battlefield  of  the  preceding  day.  When  I  reached 
the  ground  over  which  Hancock's  troops  had  fought,  it  became 
evident  that  the  rebels  had  here  suffered  severely ;  their  dead 
were  yet  numerous  in  places,  although  details  of  men  had 
long  been  busy  in  burying  the  slain  of  both  armies. 

At  last  I  found  Dr.  Khayme's  tent,  after  having  been 
directed  wrong  more  than  once.  No  one  was  there  except  a 
white  servant ;  he  told  me  that  the  Doctor,  who  was  now  at 

135 


136  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

the  field  hospital,  had  been  busy  the  whole  of  the  preceding 
day  and  night  in  relieving  the  wounded ;  that  he  had  taken  no 
sleep  at  all.  "  I  don't  see  how  the  Doctor  stands  what  he  goes 
through,"  said  the  man.  "  Yesterday  the  whole  day  long  he 
was  in  the  thick  of  it ;  he  was  in  as  great  danger  as  the  troops 
were ;  lots  more  than  some  of  'em.  He  said  that  the  rebels 
wouldn't  try  to  hit  him ;  but  for  my  part  I  wouldn't  trust  one 
of  'em  as  far  as  I  could  fling  a  bull  by  the  tail ;  and  him  a 
tendin'  to  'em  just  like  they  was  our  own  men." 

This  was  not  the  first  I  had  heard  of  the  Doctor's  disregard 
of  danger.  At  Bull  Run  he  was  known  to  follow  a  charge 
and  assist  the  wounded  as  they  fell.  I  supposed  that  there  was 
no  use  expostulating  with  a  man  who  so  firmly  believed  in  the 
peculiar  doctrines  of  his  philosophy. 

About  nightfall  he  came  into  the  tent,  rubbing  his  hands. 

"  Good  evening,  Jones.  I  expected  to  see  you  here.  I 
suppose  you  think  you  are  going  to  stay  with  me  several 
days  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  suppose  so.  Doctor  ?  " 

"  Oh,  by  this  and  that.  Your  brigade  will  have  nothing  to 
do  this  side  of  the  Chickahominy." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  the  Chickahominy,"  I 
replied. 

"  You  will  know." 

"  The  brigade  can  be  easy  for  some  time,  then  ?  " 

"  Any  man  can  be  easy  for  some  time  if  he  has  been  ordered 
on  special  duty  not  to  be  demanded  for  some  time." 

"  You  know  about  my  case  ?  " 

''  Yes." 

Dr.  Khayme  looked  surprisingly  fresh  after  having  under- 
gone such  arduous  labours ;  indeed,  this  little  man's  physical 
endurance  and  his  mental  power  were  to  me  matters  for  aston- 
ishment equally  great. 

"  Doctor,"  I  said,  "  I  hear  you  have  been  working  very  hard. 
You  need  rest  and  sleep." 


JONES   ON  THE  BLACK  HORSE  137 

"Well,"  said  he,  "when  I  need  rest  I  rest;  when  I  need 
sleep  I  sleep ;  just  now  I  want  supper." 

After  we  had  eaten  he  filled  his  pipe,  and  settled  himself  on 
a  camp-stool.  He  got  more  comfort  out  of  a  camp-stool  than 
any  other  man  in  the  world.  As  I  saw  him  sitting  there,  puff- 
ing slowly,  his  eyes  filled  with  intelligent  pleasure,  his  impas- 
sive features  in  perfect  repose,  I  thought  he  looked  the  picture 
of  contentment. 

I  asked  about  Lydia. 

"  Lydia  will  not  rejoin  me  yet,"  said  he;  "she  wishes  to  be 
with  me,  but  I  prefer  that  she  should  remain  in  the  hospital 
at  Hampton  until  the  army  is  concentrated.  You  will  have 
some  marching  to  do  before  you  have  any  more  fighting,  and  I 
don't  think  I'll  send  for  her  yet." 

"  T  suppose  she  can  do  as  much  good  where  she  is,"  I 
said. 

"  Yes,  and  save  herself  the  worry  of  frequent  marches.  She 
can  come  to  me  when  things  are  settled.  However,  I  am  not 
sure  that  we  shall  not  demand  her  services  here.  But  now 
tell  me  all  about  your  last  night's  experience." 

When  I  had  ended  my  narration,  he  said,  "  You  will  here- 
after be  called  on  to  do  more  of  such  work." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  I. 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"No,  Doctor,  I  do  not,  and  I  am  surprised  that  I  do  not. 
Yet,  I  shall  not  object  if  I  can  accomplish  anything." 

"You  have  accomplished  something  each  time  that  you 
have  been  sent  out.  You  have  at  least  furnished  strong  cor- 
roborative evidence,  sufficiently  strong  to  induce  action  on  the 
part  of  your  generals." 

"  Doctor,  I  wish  you  would  rest  and  sleep." 

"  Are  you  sleepy  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  slept  all  the  morning,  and  had  another  nap  in  the 
afternoon." 

"Well,  let  u    talk  awhile.     The  animals  can  rest;  speech 


138  WHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

is  given  unto  man  alone.     First,  I  say  that  by  holding  to  your 
programme  of  last  night  you  will  incur  little  risk." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  mean  by  holding  to  my  programme, 
Doctor." 

"And  you  will  accomplish  more,"  he  added  meditatively. 
"  Yes ;  you  will  be  in  less  danger,  and  you  will  accomplish 
more." 

"1  should  be  glad  to  be  in  less  danger,  as  well  as  to  do 
more,"  said  I. 

"  You  should  always  do  such  work  unarmed." 

"You  are  right.  Doctor;  entirely  right.  Arms  are  encum- 
brances only,  and  a  man  might  easily  be  tempted  to  fire  when 
he  ought  to  be  silent." 

"My  reasons  are  a  little  different  from  yours,"  said  the 
Doctor ;  "  you  will  be  safer  if  you  are  unarmed,  and  other 
people's  lives  will  be  safer  from  you." 

"  Why  should  I  not  also  wear  Confederate  uniform  ?  " 

"  And  be  a  spy,  Jones  ?  " 

"  Hardly  that.  Doctor ;  merely  a  scout  near  the  enemy's 
lines,  not  in  them." 

"  I  cannot  vote  for  that  yet,"  said  the  Doctor. 

The  Doctor's  servant  entered,  bringing  a  written  message 
addressed :  — 

PRIVATE  BERWICK, 
On  detached  service, 
At  Sanitary  Camp, 

Rear  of  General  Hancock's  division. 

"  Who  gave  you  this  ?  "  I  asked. 

"A  man  has  just  come  with  it  —  a  horseman  —  two  horse- 
men ;  no,  a  horseman  with  two  horses." 

"  Is  he  waiting  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

I  tore  open  the  envelope.  The  Doctor  was  showing  no  curi- 
osity ;  the  thought  went  through  my  mind  that  he  already 
knew  or  suspected. 


JONES  OX  THE  BLACK   HORSE  139 

There  were  three  papers,  —  a  sketch,  a  sort  of  passport 
which  contaiued.  only  the  countersigns  for  the  past  five  days, 
and  an  order  from  General  Hooker. 

The  order  itself  gave  me  no  information  of  the  reasons 
which  had  influenced  General  Hooker  to  choose  me  for  the 
work  required ;  I  could  merely  assume  that  General  Grover 
had  nominated  me.  I  read  the  order  thoroughly  three  times, 
learned  by  heart  the  countersigns,  impressed  the  map  on  my 
mind,  and  then  destroyed  the  three  papers  in  accordance  with 
an  express  injunction  comprised  in  the  order  itself.  This 
mental  work  took  some  minutes,  during  which  the  Doctor  sat 
impassive. 

"Doctor,  I  must  go." 

"  Well,  Jones,  we  can  finish  our  talk  when  you  return.  I 
suppose  you  are  on  secret  service." 

"  Yes,  Doctor." 

"  Can  I  help  in  any  way  ?  " 

"  Please  let  me  have  that  gray  suit." 

He  brought  it  himself,  not  wishing  his  servant  to  see  it. 

''Anything  else,  Jones  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  shall  need  food." 

"  How  will  you  carry  it  ?  " 

"  In  my  pockets.     Bread  will  do." 

" I  think  I  have  a  better  thing,"  said  he ;  "I  have  provided 
that  you  shall  not  starve  again,  as  you  did  on  the  Warwick." 

He  produced  a  wide  leathern  belt,  made  into  one  long  bag, 
or  pocket;  this  he  filled  with  small  hard  biscuits;  it  was  just 
what  I  wanted. 

"Doctor,  you  are  the  most  extraordinary  man  in  this  army." 

"  I  am  not  in  this  army,"  he  said. 

The  belt  was  put  on  beneath  my  waistcoat. 

"I'll  leave  my  gun  and  everything  with  you,  Doctor;  I 
hope  to  get  back  in  two  or  three  days." 

"Very  well,  Jones.  God  bless  you,  boy,"  he  said,  and  I 
was  gone. 


140  WHO  GOES   THERE? 

Before  the  tent  I  found  "  the  horseman  with  two  horses." 

"  Does  General  Hooker  expect  a  written  reply  ?  " 

"  Ko,  sir ;  I  suppose  not." 

"  Then  you  may  report  that  you  have  delivered  your  me,» 
sage  and  that  I  begin  work  at  once." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

I  took  the  led  horse  and  mounted.  The  man  used  his  spurs 
and  rode  toward  the  east. 

My  orders  required  me  to  go  west  and  northwest.  I  was  to 
communicate  with  General  Franklin,  whose  division  on  this 
day  ought  to  have  landed  on  the  south  bank  of  the  Pamunkey 
below  White  House  for  the  purpose  of  cutting  off  the  Confed- 
erates' retreat.  The  earliest  possible  delivery  of  my  message 
was  strenuously  required,  my  orders  even  going  so  far  as  to 
include  reasons  for  despatch.  The  retreating  enemj^  were 
almost  between  us  and  Franklin,  and  he  must  be  notified  to 
attack  and  delay  them  at  every  hazard,  and  must  be  informed 
if  possible  by  what  road  he  should  advance  in  order  to  cut  off 
their  retreat ;  it  was  added  that,  upon  landing,  General  Frank- 
lin would  not  know  of  the  situation  of  the  rebel  army,  and 
would  depend  upon  information  being  brought  to  him  by  some 
one  of  the  messengers  sent  him  on  this  night. 

My  ride  was  to  be  a  ride  of  twenty-five  miles  or  more,  judg- 
ing from  the  map.  Our  outposts  were  perhaps  six  miles 
ahead ;  I  made  the  six  miles  in  less  than  three-quarters  of  an 
hour.     With  the  outposts  I  had  no  trouble. 

"  Give  me  the  countersign  for  last  Sunday,"  said  the  officer. 

"Another  man's  ahead  of  you,"  he  said,  when  I  had  re- 
sponded. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"Don't  know.     Horse  black." 

"  Going  fast  ?  " 

"  Goin'  like  hell !  "  said  he ;  then  added,  "  and  goin'  to  hell, 
too,  if  he  don't  mind  how  he  rides." 

It  was  now  after  nine  o'clock,  and  I  had  nineteen  or  twenty 


JONES   ON  THE  BLACK  HORSE  141 

miles  ahead  of  me.  As  I  had  ten  hours,  I  considered  that  cir- 
cumspection was  worth  more  than  haste  —  let  the  black  horse 
go  on. 

"  Where  are  the  rebels  ?  " 

"  A  mile  in  front  when  dark  came." 

"  Infantry  ?  " 

"  Couldn't  say ;  they  are  infantry  or  dismounted  cavalry  — ^ 
don't  know  which." 

"  Please  describe  their  position." 

"  Don't  know  a  thing  except  that  they  could  be  seen  drawn 
up  across  the  road  —  a  mile  out  there,"  pointing. 

"  In  the  woods  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Captain—" 

"  No,  only  lieutenant." 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir ;  won't  you  be  so  good  as  to  send  a  man 
with  me  to  the  point  from  which  the  rebels  could  be  seen  at 
dark  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I'll  do  that  much  for  you.     Here,  Johnson  ! " 

As  Johnson  and  I  rode  forward,  I  tried  to  get  all  he  knew  — 
but  he  knew  nothing ;  he  had  no  idea  whether  the  enemy  were 
cavalry  or  infantry,  whether  they  had  retired  or  were  yet  in 
position,  or  how  many  they  were.  The  moon  was  almost  over- 
head ;  the  sandy  road  muffled  the  sounds  of  the  horses'  hoofs ; 
no  noise  came  from  front  or  rear.  The  way  was  through  the 
woods ;  in  little  more  than  half  a  mile  open  ground  was  seen 
ahead.     Johnson  stopped ;  so  did  I. 

"  They  are  on  the  other  side  of  the  field,"  said  he. 

"  How  wide  is  the  field  ?  " 

"A  quarter,  I  guess." 

"  What  was  planted  in  the  field  last  year  ?  " 

"  Corn." 

"  Stalks  still  standing  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  they  are  very  small." 

"  Does  the  road  run  between  fences  ?  " 


142  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"  Yes." 

"  How  far  does  the  field  extend  to  our  right  ?  " 

"Only  a  short  distance  —  a  few  hundred  yards." 

"  And  to  our  left  ?  " 

"Farther  —  about  a  half  a  mile,  maybe." 

"  Any  houses  ?  " 

"  Yes,  on  the  other  side,  where  the  rebels  were." 

"  A  farmhouse  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  other  buildings  —  stables  and  the  like." 

"  Which  side  of  the  road  ?  " 

"  The  left." 

Johnson  could  answer  no  further  questions ;  I  let  him  go. 

How  had  the  black  horse  passed  on  ?  Delay  might  mean 
my  arrival  at  Franklin's  position  later  than  that  of  the  black 
horse,  or  it  might  mean  success.  If  the  rebels  had  abandoned 
this  position  at  nightfall,  I  should  be  wasting  time  here  by 
taking  precautions ;  if  they  were  yet  yonder  in  the  woods  on 
the  other  side  of  the  field,  they  would  capture  me  if  I  rode  on. 
Which  course  should  I  take  —  the  safe  course,  or  the  possible 
speedy  course  ?  I  took  the  safe  course.  Dismounting  I  tied 
my  horse  to  a  swinging  limb,  and  crept  forward  on  the  right 
of  the  right-hand  fence,  until  I  reached  the  woods  beyond  the 
field.  I  looked  over  the  fence  into  the  road.  There  was  no 
enemy  visible.  The  house  at  the  west  was  without  lights,  and 
there  was  no  noise  of  barking  dogs  or  of  anything  else ;  clearly 
the  rebels  had  moved,  and  by  ray  prudence  the  black  horse  had 
gained  further  upon  me.  I  got  into  the  road  and  ran  back  to 
my  horse,  mounted  hurriedly  and  rode  forward  at  a  gallop  for 
half  a  mile ;  then  I  slowed  to  a  walk.  How  far  had  the  rebels 
gone  ?  Might  I  not  expect  a  challenge  at  any  moment  ?  I 
must  not  let  a  first  disappointment  control  my  reason.  The 
roads  were  bad ;  the  retreat  of  the  rebels  was  necessarily  slow, 
as  they  had  many  wagon  trains  to  protect.  The  road  must  be 
forsaken  at  the  first  path  that  would  lead  me  to  the  right ;  any 
bridle-path  would  lead  me  somewhere.    The  night  was  clear,  and 


JONES   ON  THE   BLACK  HORSE  143 

the  stars  would  guide  me  until  I  should  reach  some  better 
ground.  The  sketch  furnished  me  gave  me  only  the  main  road, 
with  the  branch  roads  marked  down  for  very  short  distances. 
I  would  take  one  of  the  branch  roads  leading  to  the  right; 
there  must  be  roads  leading  up  the  York ;  all  the  country  is 
interlaced  with  roads  small  and  large.  I  would  risk  it ;  better 
do  that  than  risk  falling  into  the  enemy's  hands. 

I  was  thus  cogitating  when  a  sound  reached  me.  I  thought 
I  could  distinguish  a  horse's  footfall.  I  stopped  —  the  sound 
was  louder  —  coming  and  coming  fast.  I  dismounted  and  led 
my  horse  into  the  woods  a  few  yards  and  covered  his  mouth 
with  my  hands.  Still  the  sounds  reached  me  —  the  constant 
cadence  of  a  galloping  horse,  yet  coming  from  far.  Who  could 
be  riding  fast  this  night?  Who  could  be  riding  south  this 
night?  The  rebels  were  going  north;  no  rebel  horseman 
would  ride  south  to-night. 

The  sounds  increased  now  rapidly,  and  soon  a  single  horse 
dashed  by ;  I  could  not  see  the  rider  for  the  boughs  of  the 
trees,  but  I  saw  a  black  horse  going  south. 

Was  this  the  messenger  who  had  outstripped  me  at  the 
start  ?  I  could  not  know,  but  the  horse  was  black.  Why  not 
brown  ?  How  could  I  be  sure  that  in  the  moonlight  I  could 
tell  black  from  brown,  or  black  from  bay  ?  I  could  not  answer, 
yet  I  felt  confidence  in  my  first  impression.  The  lieutenant 
had  said  the  man's  horse  was  black.  How  did  the  lieutenant 
know  ?  Had  he  seen  the  horse  by  day  ?  Had  he  brought  a 
light  ?  The  horse  must  be  very  black.  To  satisfy  my  mind 
I  led  my  horse  into  the  road  and  slipped  the  bridle  round  his 
foreleg ;  then  retired  a  few  yards  and  looked  at  him  —  he  had 
not  the  colour  of  the  black  horse ;  he  was  a  deep  bay. 

Why  was  the  black  horse  returning  ?  Doubtless  the  enemy 
had  been  found  far  up  the  road,  and  the  messenger  could  not 
get  through  them.  Who  else  would  be  riding  fast  down  this 
road  ?  If  the  rider  were  a  rebel,  he  would  ride  slow.  Our  men 
would  ride  fast  toward  our  own  lines ;  this  rider  was  one  of 


144  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

ours.  Who  was  lie  ?  He  was  the  messenger  on  the  black 
horse.  Why  should  he  ride  so  fast  to  the  rear  ?  He  was 
seeking  a  new  road ;  perhaps  he  knew  of  another  road,  and 
was  hurrying  now  because  he  had  already  lost  time  and  his 
new  road  would  be  longer  and  would  make  him  lose  more. 

Yet  I  went  on  up  the  road.  I  had  heard  the  galloping  of 
the  black  horse  far  off,  and  I  knew  that  I  could  go  half  a  mile 
before  I  should  encounter  the  enemy.  I  was  ahead  of  the 
black  horse. 

After  riding  five  minutes  slowly  on,  I  came  to  a  small 
field  on  the  right  of  the  road;  in  the  field  was  a  cabin.  I 
paused,  and  considered.  The  cabin,  no  doubt,  was  deserted ;  but 
if  it  were  occupied,  what  should  I  fear  ?  I  was  in  citizen's  dress. 
If  any  one  was  now  in  the  cabin,  I  might  get  information ;  if  it 
was  deserted,  I  could  explore  the  ground  about  it,  for  I  hoped 
that  some  path  connected  this  place  with  other  fields  and  per- 
haps other  roads  to  the  north.  I  dismounted  and  approached 
the  door  and  knocked.  There  was  no  response.  I  pushed  the 
door,  and  it  opened ;  the  place  had  been  vacated.  I  searched 
the  grounds ;  there  was  a  well  in  the  back  yard,  and  I  lost  the 
hope  that  I  should  find  a  path  leading  to  a  spring,  and  perhaps 
beyond.  I  diligently  and  painfully  continued  my  search,  and 
at  length  was  rewarded  by  seeing  a  stile  in  the  back  fence.  I 
went  back  and  mounted,  and  rode  round  the  little  field  to  the 
stile,  and  took  the  path  leading  from  it  due  north.  I  reached 
the  woods,  and  was  compelled  to  dismount,  for  the  branches 
of  the  trees  overhung  the  path  and  constantly  barred  my  way. 
Leading  my  horse,  I  continued  on  and  came  to  a  larger  field 
where,  at  the  fence,  the  path  connected  with  a  narrow  planta- 
tion road  which  I  knew,  from  the  ruts,  wagons  had  used.  I 
went  to  the  right,  no  longer  dismounted,  and  going  at  a  fast 
trot.  My  road  was  running  in  a  northeast  course,  but  soon 
the  corner  of  the  field  was  reached,  and  then  it  branched,  one 
branch  going  to  the  north,  the  other  continuing  northeast. 
Which  should  I  take  ?     I  could  not  hesitate  j  I  rode  north, 


JONES  ON"  THE   BLACK  HORSE  145 

and  kept  on  pursuing  this  narrow  road  for  nearly  a  mile,  I 
supposed.  Where  I  was  I  did  not  know,  but  I  felt  sure  that 
I  was  flanking  the  rebels  who  had  stopped  the  black  horse.  I 
considered  the  plan  of  trying  now  to  get  back  into  the  main 
road  .again,  but  rejected  the  thought,  for  no  doubt  Johnston's 
army  was  stretched  along  this  road  for  many  miles ;  no  doubt 
it  was  only  the  rear-guard  picket  that  had  turned  back  my 
unknown  friend  who  had  preceded  me.  I  would  keep  on,  and  I 
did  keep  on,  getting  almost  lost  sometimes,  passing  farms  and 
woods  and  streams,  forsaking  one  path  for  a  worse  one,  if  the 
latter  favoured  my  course,  until  at  last,  after  great  anxiety,  and 
fatigue  of  body  and  mind,  I  reached  a  wide  road  running  north- 
west.   I  had  come,  I  supposed,  four  or  five  miles  from  the  stile. 

Now  I  no  longer  feared  the  rebel  army.  That  was  at  my 
left  in  the  road  to  Eichmond.  This  road  I  was  on  led  up  the 
York.  The  map  was  worthless  now.  Of  course,  I  might  run 
foul  of  scouts  and  flying  parties ;  these  people  I  must  watch 
for. 

I  supposed  it  was  one  o'clock,  and  that  I  yet  had  fifteen 
miles  to  go,  for  I  had  made  my  route  much  longer  than  the 
main  road ;  but  I  counted  that  I  had  gained  greatly,  for  I  was 
in  comparative  safety,  and  had  five  hours  yet.  The  road 
ahead  I  knew  nothing  about,  but  it  was  running  in  the  correct 
course  for  Eltham's  Landing  high  up  on  the  river. 

Soon  I  came  to  a  fork.  Which  branch  should  I  take  ?  If 
I  should  take  the  right,  it  was  chance  for  chance  that  I  should 
go  straight  off  to  the  York,  and  I  wanted  to  go  up  the  York ; 
if  I  should  take  the  left,  it  was  chance  for  chance  that  I  should 
ride  straight  to  the  enemy  on  the  Richmond  road. 

I  took  the  left.  To  go  to  the  river  meant  almost  the  loss 
of  hope  thereafter.  I  would  go  toward  the  enemy  for  a  little 
distance,  but  would  take  the  first  bridle-path  to  the  right, 
some  road  or  bridle-path  branching  out  of  this,  and  running 
up  the  river.  But  my  progress  became  exceedingly  slow,  for 
I  feared  always  to  miss  seeing  some  blind  road  leading  to  the 


146  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

right,  and  my  carefulness  again  cost  me  a  little  time,  perhaps, 
for  I  found  a  path,  and  took  it,  going  with  great  caution  for 
a  furlong,  to  find  that  it  entered  a  larger  road.  If  I  had  not 
taken  this  path,  I  should  have  soon  reached  this  good  road  at 
its  junction,  and  time  would  have  been  saved  by  increased 
speed;  yet  I  did  not  blame  myself,  and  went  on  with  renewed 
hope  and  faster,  for  although  the  moon  was  getting  far  down 
the  sky,  my  road  was  good  and  was  running  straight  toward 
my  end. 

But  at  length,  as  I  was  going  over  a  sandy  stretch,  I  heard 
hoof-beats  behind  me,  and  the  sound  grew,  and  I  knew  that 
some  night  rider  was  following  fast.  What  is  he  ?  A  rebel 
or  a  Eederal  ?  Loud  ring  the  strokes  of  the  horse's  irons  and 
louder  behind  me ;  I  must  run  or  I  must  slip  aside. 

I  chose  to  let  him  pass.  To  be  pursued  would  have  been  to 
throw  up  the  game ;  all  then  would  have  been  lost.  I  left 
the  road  and  hid  in  the  shadowy  woods.  On  came  the  rider, 
and  as  the  thundering  hoofs  hit  the  road  within  ten  paces  of 
my  stand,  I  saw  again  the  black  horse  belly  to  the  groimd  in 
the  moonlight. 

Almost  at  once  I  started  in  pursuit.  I  would  keep  this 
man  before  me ;  if  he  should  run  upon  rebels,  the  alarm  would 
reach  me ;  so  long  as  he  should  be  in  my  front,  safety  for  me 
was  at  the  front  and  danger  elsewhere.  I  pursued,  keeping 
within  sight  where  the  road  stretches  were  long,  going  slowly 
where  the  ground  was  hard,  lest  the  noise  of  my  approach 
should  be  heard.  Yet  I  had  no  difficulty ;  the  courier  was 
straining  every  nerve  to  reach  his  destination,  and  regarded 
not  his  rear.  He  crossed  roads  in  haste,  and  by  this  I  knew 
that  the  road  was  to  him  familiar ;  he  paused  never,  but  kept 
his  horse  at  an  even  gallop  through  forest  and  through  field, 
while  I  followed  by  jerks,  making  my  horse  run  at  times,  and 
again,  fearing  I  was  too  near,  bringing  him  back  to  slower 
speed.     For  miles  I  followed  the  black  horse. 

But  now  I  saw  that  the  night  was  further  spent  than  I  had 


JONES  ON  THE  BLACK  HORSE  147 

supposed ;  light  was  coming  behind  me,  and  the  moon  was  low 
in  the  west.  How  far  to  the  end  ?  The  black  horse  is  going 
more  slowly ;  he  has  gone  many  weary  miles  more  than  mine 
has  gone ;  his  rider  is  urging  him  to  the  utmost ;  I  can  see 
him  dig  his  spurs  again  and  again  into  the  sides  of  the  noble 
beast,  and  see  him  strike,  and  I  see  him  turn  where  the  road 
turns  ahead  of  me,  and  I  ride  faster  to  recover  him ;  and  now 
I  see  black  smoke  rising  at  my  right  hand,  and  I  hear  the 
whistle  of  the  Union  steam  vessels,  and  I  almost  cry  for  joy, 
and  at  the  turning  of  the  road  my  horse  rears  and  almost 
throws  me  to  the  ground,  and  I  see  the  black  horse  lying  dead, 
and  I  spur  my  horse  to  pass,  and  give  a  cry  of  terror  as  a  man 
springs  from  the  left,  with  carbine  presented,  and  shouts, 
"  Your  horse !  your  horse  !  Dismount  at  once,  or  I'll  blow 
your  brains  out !  " 

For  the  rider  of  the  black  horse  was  a  Confederate ! 

Shall  I  ever  forget  that  moment  of  dismay  and  anguish  ? 
Even  as  I  write  the  thrill  of  horror  returns,  and  I  see  a  picture 
of  the  past :  —  the  daybreak ;  a  lonely  road  in  the  forest ;  two 
men  and  two  horses,  each  pair  as  unlike  as  life  and  death,  for 
one's  horse  was  dead  and  the  other  man  was  about  to  die. 
Had  I  been  so  utterly  foolish !  Why  had  I  conceived  abso- 
lutely that  this  rider  v;as  a  Federal  ?  How  could  a  Federal 
know  the  road  so  well  that  he  had  gone  over  it  at  full  speed, 
never  hesitating,  never  deflecting  into  a  wrong  course  ?  The 
instant  before,  I  had  been  in  heaven,  for  I  had  known  my  safe 
destination  was  at  hand ;  now,  I  felt  that  my  end  had  come 
to  me,  for  my  terror  was  for  myself  and  not  for  a  lost  mission, 
and  I  cannot  remember  that  in  that  smallest  second  of  time 
any  other  hope  was  in  me  but  that  of  riding  this  man 
down  and  reaching  our  troops  with  a  mortal  bullet  in  my 
body. 

In  a  second  the  world  may  be  changed  —  in  a  second  the 
world  tvas  changed.  I  saw  my  captor's  gun  drop  from  his 
hands ;  I  saw  his  hands  go  up.     I  looked  round  ;  in  the  road 


148  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

behind  me  —  blessed   sight  —  were  two   Union  soldiers   with 
their  muskets  levelled  at  the  man  in  gray. 

"Take  me  at  once  to  General  Franklin." 

Again  I  was  thunderstruck  —  two  voices  had  shouted  the 
same  words ! 

The  revulsion  turned  me  stomach-sick ;  the  rider  of  the 
black  horse  was  a  Federal  in  disguise ! 

******* 

General  Franklin  advanced,  and  met  the  enemy  advancing. 
For  no  error  on  my  part,  my  mission  was  a  failure. 

"How  could  you  know  the  road  so  well  for  the  last  ten 
miles  of  it  ? "  I  asked  of  Jones,  the  rider  of  the  black 
horse. 

"  That  horse  was  going  home  !  " 

"  A  horse  captured  from  the  rebels  ?  " 

"No;  impressed  only  yesterday  from  a  farmer  near  the 
landing.  You  see  he  had  already  made  that  road  and  was  not 
in  the  best  condition  to  make  it  again  so  soon ;  then  I  had  to 
turn  about  more  than  once.  I  suppose  that  horse  must  have 
made  nearly  a  hundred  miles  in  twenty-four  hours." 

Jones  was  of  Porter's  escort,  and  had  on  this  occasion 
served  as  General  Porter's  messenger. 

On  the  next  day,  the  8th,  I  returned  to  the  Sanitary  Camp. 


XIV 


OUT   OF   SORTS 

"  Your  changed  complexions  are  to  me  a  mirror 
Which  shows  me  mine  changed  too  ;  for  I  must  be 
A  party  in  this  alteration,  finding 
Myself  thus  altered  with  it."  —  Shakespeare. 

It  would  have  been  quite  impossible  for  me  to  analyze  my 
feeling  for  Dr.  Khayme.  His  affection  for  me  was  uncon- 
cealed, and  I  was  sure  that  no  other  man  was  received  as  his 
companion  —  not  that  he  was  distant,  but  that  he  was  not 
approached.  By  nature  I  am  affectionate,  but  at  that  time  my 
emotions  were  severely  and  almost  continually  repressed  by 
my  will,  because  of  a  condition  of  nervous  sensitiveness  in 
regard  to  the  possibility  of  an  exposure  of  my  peculiarity, 
so  that  I  often  wondered  whether  the  Doctor  fully  understood 
the  love  and  reverence  I  bore  him. 

On  the  morning  following  the  day  last  spoken  of  —  that  is  to 
say,  on  the  morning  of  May  9  th —  Dr.  Khayme  rode  off  to  the 
old  William  and  Mary  College,  now  become  a  hospital,  leaving 
me  to  my  devices,  as  he  said,  for  some  hours.  I  was  sitting  on 
a  camp-stool  in  the  open  air,  busily  engaged  in  cleaning  my 
gun  and  accoutrements,  when  I  saw  a  man  coming  toward  me. 
It  was  Willis. 

"  Where  is  the  Doctor  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Gone  to  the  hospital ;  want  to  see  him  ?  " 

"That  depends." 

"  He  will  be  back  in  an  hour  or  two.  Boys  all  right  ?  "  I 
brought  out  a  camp-stool ;  Willis  remained  standing. 

149 


150  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"  Oh,  yes ;  what's  left  of  'em.  Say,  Berwick,  what's  this  I 
hear  about  your  being  detailed  for  special  work  ?  " 

"  So,"  said  I. 

"  What  in  the  name  o'  God  will  you  have  to  do  ?  " 

Willis's  tone  was  not  so  friendly  as  I  had  known  it  to  be ; 
besides,  I  had  observed  that  he  called  me  Berwick  rather  than 
Jones.  His  attitude  chilled  me.  I  did  not  wish  to  talk  to 
him  about  myself.  We  talk  about  personal  matters  to  per- 
sonal friends.  I  suppose,  too,  that  I  am  peculiar  in  such 
things ;  at  any  rate,  so  great  was  my  distaste  to  talking  now 
with  Willis  on  the  subject  in  question  that  I  did  not  succeed 
in  hiding  my  feeling. 

"Oh,"  says  he,  "you  needn't  say  it  if  you  don't  want  to." 

"I  feel,"  said  I,  "as  though  I  should  be  speaking  of  per- 
sonal matters,  perhaps  too  personal." 

"  Well,  1  don't  want  to  force  myself  on  anybody,"  said  he ; 
then  he  asked,  "How  long  are  you  going  to  stay  with  Dr. 
Khayrae  ?  " 

It  flashed  upon  me  in  an  instant  that  Willis  was  jealous, — 
not  of  the  little  distinction  that  had  been  shown  me, —  but  in 
regard  to  Lydia,  and  I  felt  a  great  desire  to  relieve  him  of  any 
fear  of  my  being  or  becoming  his  rival.  Yet  I  did  not  see 
how  I  could  introduce  a  subject  so  delicate.  In  order  to  gain 
time,  I  replied  :  "  Well,  I  don't  know  exactly  ;  I  am  subject  to 
orders  from  brigade  headquarters.  If  no  orders  come,  I  shall 
stay  here  a  day  or  two ;  if  we  march,  I  suppose  I  shall  march 
with  the  company,  unless  the  division  is  in  the  rear." 

"If  the  division  marches  and  Dr.  Khayme  remains  here, 
what  will  you  do  ?  "  he  asked. 

This  was  increasing,  I  thought;  to  encourage  him  to  pro- 
ceed, I  asked,   "Why  do  you  wish  to  know?" 

"Because,"  said  he,  hesitatingly,  "because  I  think  you 
ought  to  show  your  hand." 

"  Please  tell  me  exactly  what  you  mean  by  that,"  said  I. 

"  You  know  very  well  what  I  mean,"  he  replied. 


OUT   OF   SOETS  151 

"  Let  us  have  no  guesswork,"  said  I ;  *'  if  you  want  to  say 
anything,  this  is  a  good  time  for  saying  it." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will,"  said  he ;  "  you  know  that  I  like  Miss 
Lydia." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  And  I  thought  you  were  my  friend." 

"  I  am  your  friend." 

"  Then  why  do  you  get  into  my  way  ?  " 

''  If  I  am  in  your  way,  it  is  more  than  I  know,"  said  I ; 
"  what  would  you  have  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  If  you  are  my  friend,  you  will  keep  out  of  my  way." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  ought  not  to  visit  the  Doctor?" 

"  If  you  visit  the  Doctor,  you  ought  to  make  it  plain  to  him 
why  you  visit  him." 

"  Sergeant,"  said  I ;  "  Dr.  Khayme  knows  very  well  why 
I  visit  him.  I  have  no  idea  that  he  considers  me  a  bidder 
for  his  daughter." 

"Well;  you  may  be  right,  and  then  again  you  may  be 
wrong." 

"And  you  would  have  me  renounce  Dr.  Khayme's  society 
in  order  to  favour  your  hopes  ?  " 

"I  did  not  say  that.  You  are  perfectly  welcome  to  Dr. 
Khayme's  company ;  but  I  do  think  that  you  ought  not  to  let 
him  believe  that  you  want  Miss  Lydia." 

"  Shall  I  tell  him  that  you  say  that  ?  " 

"  I  can  paddle  my  own  canoe ;  you  are  not  my  mouthpiece," 
he  replied  angrily. 

"  Then  would  you  have  me  tell  him  that  I  do  not  want  Miss 
Lydia  ?  " 

"  Tell  him  what  you  like,  or  keep  silent  if  you  like ;  all  I've 
got  to  say  is  that  if  you  are  my  friend  you  will  not  stand  in 
my  way." 

"It  seems  to  me,  Sergeant,"  said  I,  "that  you  are  forcing 
me  into  a  very  delicate  position.  For  me  to  go  to  Dr.  Khayme 
and  explain  to  him  that  my  attachment  to  him  is  not  a  piece 


152  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

of  liypocrisy  played  by  me  in  order  to  win  his  daughter,  would 
not  be  satisfactory  to  the  Doctor  or  to  me,  or  even  to  Miss 
Khayme." 

"  Why  not  to  her  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  Because  my  explanation  could  not  be  made  except  upon 
my  assumption  that  she  supposes  me  a  suitor;  it  would 
amount  to  my  saying,  'I  don't  want  you,'  and  more  than  that, 
as  you  can  easily  see.  I  decline  to  put  myself  into  such  a 
position.  I  prefer  to  assume  that  she  does  not  regard  me  as 
a  suitor,  and  that  the  Doctor  receives  me  only  as  an  old  pupil. 
I  beg  you  to  stay  here  until  the  Doctor  comes,  and  talk  to  him 
yourself.  I  can  promise  you  one  thing:  I  shall  not  hinder 
you;  I'll  give  you  a  clear  field." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  will  give  me  a  clear  field 
with  Miss  Lydia?" 

"  Not  exactly  that,  but  very  nearly.  You  have  no  right  to 
expect  me  to  say  to  anybody  that  Miss  Lydia  does  not  attract 
me,  and  it  would  be  silly,  presumptuous,  conceited  in  me  to 
yield  what  I  have  not.  I  can  tell  you  this  :  I  have  not  spoken 
a  word  to  Miss  Lydia  that  I  would  not  speak  to  any  woman, 
or  to  any  man  for  that  matter,  and  I  can  say  that  I  have  not 
one  degree  of  claim  upon  her." 

"  Then  you  will  keep  out  of  my  way  ?  " 

*•  I  repeat  that  I  am  not  in  your  way.  If  I  should  say  that 
I  will  keep  out  of  your  way,  I  would  imply  what  is  not  true ; 
the  young  lady  is  absolutely  free  so  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

At  this  point  the  Doctor  came  up.  He  shook  hands  with 
Willis  and  went  into  his  tent.  I  urged  Willis  to  follow,  but 
he  would  not.  I  offered  to  lead  the  conversation  into  the 
matter  in  which  he  was  so  greatly  interested,  but  he  would 
not  consent. 

The  Doctor  reappeared.  "Lydia  will  be  here  to-night," 
he  said. 

"  You  surprise  me.  Doctor." 

"  Yes  J  but  I  am  now  pretty  sure  that  we  shall  be  here  for 


OUT   OF   SORTS  153 

a  week  to  come,  and  we  shall  not  move  our  camp  before  the 
rear  division  moves.     Lydia  will  find  enough  to  do  here." 

Willis  soon  took  his  leave.  I  accompanied  him  for  a  short 
distance ;  on  parting  with  him  I  told  him  that  he  might  ex- 
pect to  see  me  again  at  night. 

"What ! "  said  he ;  "you  are  going  to  leave  the  Doctor  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied ;  "  expect  me  to-night." 

Willis  looked  puzzled ;  he  did  not  know  what  to  say,  and 
said  notliing. 

When  I  entered  the  Doctor's  tent,  I  found  him  busily  writing. 
He  looked  up,  then  went  on  with  his  work.  Presently,  still 
continuing  to  write,  he  said,  "  So  Willis  is  angry." 

"  Why  do  you  say  so.  Doctor  ?  " 

"  Anybody  could  have  seen  it  in  his  manner,"  said  he. 

I  tried  to  evade.     "  He  was  out  of  sorts,"  said  I. 

"  What  does  '  out  of  sorts '  mean  ? "  asked  the  Doctor. 
Then,  before  I  could  reply,  he  continued :  "  I  have  often 
thought  of  that  expression ;  it  is  a  good  one  ;  it  means  to  say 
gloomy,  depressed,  mentally  unwell,  physically  ill  perhaps. 
Yes,  Willis  is  out  of  sorts.  Out  of  sorts  means  mixed,  un- 
classified, unassorted,  having  one's  functions  disordered.  One 
who  cannot  separate  his  functions  distinctly  is  uuAvell  and, 
necessarily,  miserable.  Willis  showed  signs  of  dementia;  his 
brain  is  not  acting  right.     I  think  I  can  cure  him." 

I  said  nothing.  In  the  Doctor's  tone  there  was  not  a  shade 
of  sarcasm. 

He  continued :  "  Perfect  sanity  would  be  impossible  to  predi- 
cate of  any  individual ;  doubtless  there  are  perfectly  sane  per- 
sons, that  is,  sane  at  times,  but  to  find  them  would  be  like 
finding  the  traditional  needle.  I  suppose  our  good  friend  Wil- 
lis would  rank  higher  than  the  average,  after  all  is  said." 

"  Willis  is  a  good  soldier,"  said  I,  "  and  a  good  sergeant." 

"  Yes,  no  doubt  he  is ;  he  ought  to  know  that  he  is  just  the 
man  for  a  soldier  and  a  sergeant,  and  be  content." 

Now,  of   course,  I   knew  that   Dr.  Khayme,  by  his   clear 


154  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

knowledge  of  nature,  not  to  say  more,  was  able  to  read  Willis ; 
but  up  to  this  time  I  had  not  suspected  that  Willis's  hopes  in 
regard  to  Lydia  had  alarmed  or  offended  my  learned  friend ;  so 
I  continued  to  beat  round  the  subject. 

'*  I  cannot  see,"  said  I,  "  why  Willis  might  not  aspire  to  a 
commission.  If  the  war  continues,  there  will  be  many  chances 
for  promotion." 

"  The  war  will  continue,"  he  said,  "  and  Willis  may  win  a 
commission.  The  difference  between  a  lieutenant  and  a  ser- 
geant is  greater  in  pay  than  in  qualification ;  in  fact,  a  good 
orderly-sergeant  is  a  rarer  man  than  a  good  captain.  Let 
Willis  have  his  commission.  Let  that  be  his  ambition,  if  he 
persists  in  murdering  people." 

The  Doctor  was  yet  writing  busily.  I  wondered  whether  his 
words  were  intended  as  a  hint  for  me  to  speak  to  Willis ;  of 
course  I  could  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  felt  that  this  whole 
affair  was  very  delicate.  Willis  had  gone  so  far  as  to  make 
me  infer  that  he  was  very  much  afraid  of  me :  why  ?  Could 
it  be  possible  that  he  saw  more  than  I  could  see  ?  No,  that 
was  a  suggestion  of  mere  vanity ;  he  simply  dreaded  Dr. 
Khayme's  well-known  partiality  for  me  ;  he  feared,  not  me, 
but  the  Doctor.  I  was  uneasy.  I  examined  myself;  I  thought 
of  my  past  conduct  in  regard  to  Lydia,  and  found  nothing  to 
condemn.  I  had  been  rather  more  distant,  I  thought,  than 
was  necessary.     I  must  preserve  this  distance. 

'^  Doctor,"  said  I,  "  good-by  till  to-morrow ;  I  shall  stay 
with  the  company  to-night." 

He  looked  up.     "  You  will  see  Willis  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  I  suppose  so." 

"  You  might  say  to  him,  if  you  think  well,  that  I  thought  he 
left  us  rather  abruptly  to-day,  and  that  I  don't  think  he  is 
very  well." 

"I  hope  to  see  you  again  to-morrow.  Doctor." 

"  Very  well,  my  boy ;  good-by  till  to-morrow ;  you  will  find 
me  here  by  ten  o'clock." 


OUT   OF   SORTS  166 

When  I  reached  the  company  I  did  not  see  Willis ;  he  was 
off  on  duty  somewhere.  On  the  next  morning,  however,  he 
came  in,  and  everything  passed  in  the  friendliest  way  possible, 
at  first.  Evidently  he  was  pleased  with  me  for  absenting 
myself  from  Lydia.  But  he  soon  learned  that  I  was  to  return 
to  the  Sanitary  Camp,  and  his  countenance  changed  at  once. 

"What  am  I  to  think  of  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  trust  you  will  think  well  of  me,"  I  replied;  "I  am  doing 
you  no  wrong.     You  are  not  well.     The  Doctor  noticed  it." 

"  He  said  that  I  was  not  well  ?  " 

''Yes." 

"  Well,  he  is  wrong  for  once ;  I  am  as  well  as  I  ever  was  in 
my  life." 

"He  said  you  left  very  suddenly  yesterday." 

"  I  suppose  I  did  leave  suddenly ;  but  I  saw  no  reason  to 
remain  longer." 

"  Willis,"  said  I,  "  let  us  talk  seriously.  Why  do  you  not 
speak  to  Miss  Lydia  and  her  father  ?  Why  not  end  this  matter 
one  way  or  the  other  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  seen  Miss  Lydia  since  you  left  us  in  February," 
said  he ;  "  how  can  I  speak  to  her  ?  " 

"  But  you  can  speak  to  Dr.  Khayme." 

"  Yes,  I  could  speak  to  Dr.  Khayme,  but  I  don't  consider 
him  the  one  to  speak  to  first,  and  to  tell  you  the  truth  I'm 
afraid  of  it.  It's  got  to  be  done,  but  I  feel  that  I  have  no 
chance  ;  that's  what's  hurting  me." 

"  Then  I'd  have  it  over  with  as  soon  as  possible,"  said  I. 

"That's  easier  said  than  done  ;  but  I  intend  to  have  it  over; 
it's  doing  me  no  good.     I  wish  I'd  never  seen  her." 

"  Why  don't  you  write  ?  " 

"I've  thought  of  that,  but  I  concluded  I  wouldn't.  It 
looked  cowardly  not  to  face  the  music." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  I,  "there  is  no  cowardice  in  it  at  all. 
You  ought  to  do  it,  or  else  bury  the  whole  thing,  and  I  don't 
suppose  you  can  do  that." 


156  WHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

"  No,  I  can't  do  that ;  if  I  don't  see  her  shortly,  I  shall 
write." 

I  was  very  glad  to  hear  this.  From  what  he  had  just  said, 
coupled  with  my  knowledge  of  the  Doctor  and  of  Lydia,  I  did 
not  think  his  chance  worth  a  penny,  and  I  felt  certain  that  the 
best  thing  for  him  to  do  was  to  bring  matters  to  a  conclusion. 
He  would  recover  sooner. 

At  ten  o'clock  I  was  with  Dr.  Khayme.  He  told  me  that 
Lydia  had  arrived  in  the  night,  and  that  he  had  just  accom- 
panied her  to  the  hospital. 

"  And  how  is  our  friend  Willis  to-day  ?  "  he  asked ;  "  is  he  a 
little  less  out  of  sorts  ?  "  i 

"  He  is  friendly  to-day,  Doctor." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  that  I  remarked  about  his  abrupt  man- 
ner ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Very  well.  Now  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  your  future 
work,  Jones.  I  have  thought  of  your  suggestion  that  you 
wear  Confederate  uniform  while  scouting." 

"  And  you  do  not  oppose  it  ?  " 

"Decide  for  yourself.  I  cannot  conscientiously  take  part 
in  war  ;  all  I  can  do  is  to  endeavour  to  modify  its  evil,  and  try 
to  turn  it  to  good." 

The  Doctor  talked  long  and  deeply  \ipon  these  matters,  and 
ended  by  saying  that  he  would  get  me  Confederate  clothing 
from  some  wounded  prisones.  Then  he  began  a  discussion  of 
the  principles  which  the  respective  sections  were  fighting  for. 

"  Doctor,"  said  I ;  "  awhile  ago,  when  I  was  urging  that  a 
scout  would  be  of  greater  service  to  his  cause  if  he  disguised 
himself,  as  my  friend  Jones  does,  you  seemed  to  doubt  my 
assertion  that  the  best  thing  for  the  rebels  was  their  quick 
defeat." 

"  I  remember  it." 

"  Please  tell  me  what  you  have  in  mind." 

"It  is  this,  Jones:  America  must  be  united,  or  else  dis- 


OUT   OF   SORTS  157 

severed.  I  believe  in  the  world-idea ;  although  I  condemn  this 
war,  I  believe  in  the  Union.  The  difference  between  lis  is, 
that  I  do  not  believe  and  you  do  believe  that  the  way  to  pre- 
serve the  Union  is  going  to  war.  But  war  has  come.  Now, 
since  it  has  come,  I  think  I  can  see  that  an  easy  defeat  of  the 
Southern  armies  will  not  bring  about  a  wholesome  reunion. 
For  the  people  of  the  two  sections  to  live  in  harmony,  there 
must  be  mutual  respect,  and  there  must  be  self-respect.  An 
easy  triumph  over  the  South  would  cause  the  North  great 
vainglory  and  the  South  great  humiliation.  Granting  war,  it 
should  be  such  as  to  effect  as  much  good  and  as  little  harm  as 
possible.  The  South,  if  she  ever  comes  back  into  the  Union 
respecting  herself,  must  be  exhausted  by  war;  she  must  be 
able  to  know  that  she  did  all  she  could,  and  the  North  must 
know  that  the  South  proved  herself  the  equal  of  the  North  in 
everything  manly  and  respectable.  So  I  say  that  I  should  fear 
a  future  Union  founded  upon  an  easy  submission ;  there  would 
be  scorners  and  scorned  —  not  friends." 


XV 

WITH    THE    DOCTOR    ON    THE    EIGHT 

"  The  respects  thereof  are  nice  and  trivial, 
All  circumstances  well  considered." 

—  Shakespeare. 

For  some  days  the  brigade  remained  near  Williamsburg.  We 
learned  that  a  part  of  the  army  had  gone  up  York  River  by 
water,  and  was  encamped  near  White  House,  and  that  General 
McClellan's  headquarters  were  at  or  near  that  place. 

Then  the  division  moved  and  camped  near  Roper's  Church. 
We  heard  that  the  rebels  had  destroyed  the  Merrimac.  Heavy 
rains  fell.  Hooker's  division  was  still  in  reserve,  and  had 
little  to  do  except  to  mount  camp  guard.  I  had  nothing  to  do. 
We  had  left  Dr.  Khayme  in  his  camp  near  Williamsburg. 

I  had  not  seen  Lydia.  Willis's  manner  changed  from  ner- 
vousness to  melancholy.  It  was  a  week  before  he  told  me 
that  he  had  written  to  Miss  Lydia,  and  had  been  refused.  The 
poor  fellow  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  but  he  fought  himself  hard, 
and  I  think  I  helped  him  a  little  by  taking  him  into  my  con- 
fidence in  regard  to  my  own  troubles.  I  was  moved  to  do  this 
by  the  belief  that,  if  I  should  tell  Willis  about  my  peculiari- 
ties, which  in  my  opinion  would  make  marriage  a  crime  for 
me,  he  would  find  companionship  in  sorrow  where  he  had 
thought  to  find  rivalry,  and  cease  to  think  entirely  of  his  OAvn 
uuhappiness.  I  was  not  wrong ;  he  seemed  to  appreciate  my 
intention  and  to  be  softened.  I  endeavoured  also  to  stir  up  his 
ambition  as  a  soldier,  and  had  the  great  pleasure  of  seeing  him 
begin  seriously  to  study  tactics  and  even  strategy. 

From  Roper's  Church  we  moved  by  short  rn arches  in  rear  of 
the  other  divisions  of  the  army,  until,  on  the  21st,  we  were  near 

158 


WITH  THE  DOCTOR  ON  THE  RIGHT         159 

the  CMckaliominy,  and  still  in  reserve.  Here  I  received  a 
note  from  the  Doctor,  who  informed  me  that  his  camp  was 
just  in  our  rear.     I  went  at  once. 

"  Well/'  said  he,  "  how  do  you  like  doing  nothing  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  quite  tired  of  it  yet,"  I  said. 

"  Your  regiment  has  had  a  good  rest." 

"  I  wonder  how  much  longer  we  shall  be  held  in  reserve." 

"  A  good  while  yet,  to  judge  from  what  I  can  hear,"  he  said. 
"  I  am  authorized  to  move  to  the  right,  and  of  course  that  means 
that  I  shall  be  in  greater  demand  there." 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  with  you,"  said  I. 

"  Why  should  you  hesitate  to  do  so  ?  "  he  asked ;  "  what  are 
your  orders  ?  " 

"  There  has  been  no  change.  I  have  no  orders  at  all  except 
to  keep  the  adjutant  of  the  Eleventh  informed  as  to  my  where- 
abouts." 

"  How  frequently  must  you  report  in  person  ?  " 

*'  There  was  nothing  said  about  that.  I  suppose  a  note  will 
do,"  said  I. 

"  Your  division  was  so  severely  handled  at  Williamsburg  that 
I  cannot  think  it  will  be  brought  into  action  soon  unless  there 
should  be  a  general  engagement.  If  you  can  report  in  writing 
every  two  or  three  days,  you  need  not  limit  your  work  or  your 
presence  to  any  particular  part  of  the  line." 

"  But  the  right  must  be  many  miles  from  our  division." 

''Ko,"  said  the  Doctor;  "from  Hooker's  division  to  your 
present  right  is  not  more  than  five  miles ;  the  distance  will  be 
greater,  though,  in  a  few  days." 

"  What  is  going  on,  Doctor  ?  " 

"  McDowell  is  at  Fredericksburg,  with  a  large  Confederate 
force  in  his  front,  and  —  but  let  me  get  a  map  and  show  you 
the  situation." 

He  went  to  a  small  chest  and  brought  out  a  map,  which  he 
spread  on  a  camp-bed. 

"Here  you  see  Fredericksburg;  McDowell  is  just  south  of 


160  WHO  GOES  THERE? 

it.  Here,  about  this  point,  called  Guiney's,  is  a  Confeder- 
ate division  under  General  Anderson.  McClellan  has  urged 
Washington  to  reenforce  his  right  by  ordering  McDowell  to 
march  thus,"  describing  almost  a  semicircle  which  began  by 
going  south,  then  southeast,  then  southwest;  "that  would 
place  McDowell  on  McClellan's  right  flank,  here.  Now,  if 
McDowell  reenforces  McClellan,  this  entire  army  cannot  cross 
the  Chickahominy,  and  if  McDowell  does  not  reenforce 
McClellan,  this  entire  army  cannot  cross  the  Chickahominy." 

"Then  in  neither  event  can  this  army  take  Richmond," 
said  I. 

"Don't  go  too  fast;  I  am  speaking  of  movements  for  the 
next  ten  days ;  afterward,  new  combinations  may  be  made.  In 
case  McDowell  comes,  it  will  take  ten  days  for  his  movement 
to  be  completed,  and  your  right  wing  would  move  to  meet 
him  if  need  be,  rather  than  move  forward  and  leave  him.  To 
move  forward  would  expose  McDowell's  flank  to  the  Confed- 
erates near  Guiney's,  and  it  is  feared  that  Jackson  is  not  far 
from  them.     Am  I  clear  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  seems  clear  that  our  right  will  not  cross ;  but  sup- 
pose McDowell  does  not  come." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  for  McClellan's  right  to 
cross  the  Chickahominy  would  be  absurd,  for  the  reason  that 
a  Confederate  force,  supposed  to  be  from  Jackson's  army,  has 
nearly  reached  Hanover  Court-House  —  here  —  in  the  rear  of 
your  right,  if  you  advance ;  besides,  to  cross  the  Chickahominy 
with  the  whole  army  would  endanger  your  supplies.  You  see, 
this  Chickahominy  River  is  an  awkward  thing  to  cross;  if 
it  should  rise  suddenly,  the  army  on  the  south  side  might 
starve  before  the  men  could  get  rations ;  all  that  the  Confed- 
erates would  have  to  do  would  be  to  prevent  wagon  trains 
from  crossing  the  bridges.  And  another  thing  —  defeat,  with 
the  river  behind  the  army,  would  mean  destruction.  McClellan 
will  not  cross  his  army ;  he  will  throw  only  his  left  across." 

"  But  why  shotdd  he  cross  with  any  at  all  ?      It  seems  to 


WITH  THE  DOCTOR   OX   THE  RIGHT         161 

me  that  with  a  wing  on  either  side,  he  would  be  in  very  great 
danger  of  being  beaten  in  detail." 

"You  are  right  in  that.  But  he  feels  compelled  to  do  some- 
thing; he  makes  a  show  of  advancing,  in  order  to  keep  up 
appearances ;  the  war  department  already  thinks  he  has  lost 
too  much  time  and  has  shown  too  little  aggressiveness. 
McClellan  is  right  in  preferring  the  James  River  as  a  base, 
for  he  could  there  have  a  river  on  either  flank,  and  his  base 
would  be  protected  by  the  fleet;  but  this  theory  was  over- 
thrown at  first  by  the  31errimac,  and  now  that  she  is  out  of 
the  way  the  clamour  of  the  war  department  against  delay  pre- 
vents a  change  of  base.  So  McClellan  accepts  the  York  as 
his  base,  but  prepares,  or  at  least  seems  to  prepare,  for  a 
change  to  the  James,  by  throwing  forward  his  left." 

"  But  the  left  has  not  been  thrown  forward." 

"  It  will  be  done  shortly." 

"  "Wliat  would  happen  if  McDowell  should  not  be  ordered  to 
reenforce  us  ?  " 

"  McDowell  has  already  been  ordered  to  reenforce  McClellan, 
and  the  order  has  been  countermanded.  The  Washington 
authorities  fear  to  uncover  Washington  on  account  of  Jack- 
son's presence  in  the  Shenandoah  Valley.  If  McDowell  re- 
mains near  Fredericksburg  '  for  good,'  as  we  used  to  say  in 
South  Carolina,  McClellan  will  be  likely  to  get  everything 
in  readiness,  then  wait  for  his  opportunity,  and  throw  his 
right  wing  also  across  the  Chickahominy,  with  the  purpose 
of  ending  the  campaign  in  a  general  engagement  before  his 
supplies  are  endangered.  But  this  will  take  time.  So  I  say 
that  no  matter  what  happens,  except  one  thing,  there  will  be 
nothing  done  by  Hooker  for  ten  days ;  he  will  stay  in  re- 
serve." 

"  What  is  that  one  thing  which  you  except.  Doctor  ?  " 

"  A  general  attack  by  the  Confederates." 

"  And  you  think  that  is  possible  ?  " 

"  Always  possible.     The  Confederates  are  quick  to  attack." 


162  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"  And  you  think  they  are  ready  to  attack  ?  " 

''  No ;  I  think  there  is  no  reason  to  expect  an  attack  soon, 
at  any  rate  a  general  attack ;  but  when  McClellan  throws  his 
left  wing  over  the  Chickahominy,  the  Confederates  may  attack 
then." 

"  Then  I  ought  to  be  with  my  regiment,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  said  he ;  "  unless  your  regiment  does  not  need  you, 
or  unless  somebody  else  needs  you  more.  Hooker  will  not 
be  engaged  unless  your  whole  left  is  engaged ;  you  may  de- 
pend upon  that.  There  is  no  possibility  of  an  action  for  a 
week  to  come,  and  unless  the  Confederates  attack,  there  will 
be  no  action  for  a  month." 

*'  Then  we  ought  by  all  means  to  learn  whether  the  Confed- 
erates intend  to  attack,"  said  I. 

"  That  is  the  conclusion  of  the  argument,"  said  the  Doctor ; 
"you  can  serve  your  cause  better  in  that  way  than  in  any 
other  way.  You  are  free  to  go  and  come  on  any  part  of  your 
lines.     The  right  is  the  place  for  you." 

"  How  do  you  learn  all  these  things,  Doctor  ?  " 

"  By  this  and  that ;  it  requires  no  great  wisdom  to  enable 
any  one  to  see  that  both  armies  are  in  need  of  delay.  McClel- 
lan is  begging  every  day  for  reenforcements;  the  Confederates 
are  waiting  and  are  being  reenforced." 

"  And  you  are  firm  in  your  opinion  that  I  shall  risk  nothing 
by  going  with  you  ?  " 

"I  am  sure  that  you  will  risk  nothing  so  far  as  absence 
from  your  regiment  is  concerned,  and  I  am  equally  sure  that 
your  opportunities  for  service  will  be  better." 

"  In  case  I  go  with  you  to  the  right,  I  must  find  a  means  of 
reporting  to  the  adjutant  almost  daily." 

"  That  will  be  done  easily  enough  ;  in  any  emergency  I  can 
send  a  man." 

It  was  arranged,  therefore,  that  I  should  remain  with  Dr. 
Khayme,  who,  on  the  22d,  moved  his  camp  far  to  the  right,  in 
rear  of  General  Porter's  command,  which  we  found  support- 


WITH  THE  DOCTOR   ON   THE  RIGHT         163 

ing  Franklin,  whose  troops  were  nearer  the  Chickahominy 
and  behind  New  Bridge. 

Before  leaving  the  regiment  I  reported  to  the  adjutant,  tell- 
ing him  where  I  could  be  found  at  need,  and  promising  to  send 
in  further  reports  if  Dr.  Khayme's  camp  should  be  moved. 
At  this  period  of  the  campaign  there  was  but  little  activity 
anywhere  along  our  lines ;  in  fact,  the  lines  had  not  been  fully 
developed,  and,  as  there  was  a  difficult  stream  between  us  and 
the  enemy,  there  was  no  room  for  enterprise.  Here  and  there 
a  reconnaissance  would  be  made  in  order  to  learn  something  of 
the  position  of  the  rebels  on  the  south  side  of  the  river,  but 
such  reconnaissances  consisted  mostly  in  merely  moving  small 
bodies  of  our  troops  up  to  the  swamp  and  getting  them  fired 
upon  by  the  Confederate  artillery  posted  on  the  hills  beyond 
the  Chickahominy.  On  this  day,  the  22d,  while  Dr.  Khayme 
and  I  were  at  dinner,  we  could  hear  the  sounds  of  guns  in  two 
places,  but  only  a  few  shots. 

"  I  have  your  uniform,  Jones,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  From  a  wounded  prisoner  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  you  need  fear  nothing.  It  has  seen  hard  ser- 
vice, but  I  have  had  it  thoroughly  cleaned.  It  is  not  the  regu- 
lation uniform,  perhaps,  since  it  has  the  South  Carolina  State 
button,  but  in  everything  else  it  is  the  correct  thing." 

"  I  hope  I  shall  not  need  it  soon,"  said  I. 

"  AVliy  ?  Should  you  not  wish  to  end  this  miserable  affair 
as  quickly  as  possible  ?  " 

"Oh,  of  course;  but  I  shall  not  put  on  rebel  clothing  as 
long  as  I  can  do  as  well  with  my  own." 

"There  is  going  to  be  some  murderous  work  up  the  river — 
or  somewhere  on  your  right  —  in  a  day  or  two,"  said  the  Doc- 
tor. "  General  Butterfield  has  given  stringent  orders  for  no 
man  to  leave  camp  for  an  hour." 

"  Who  is  General  Butterfield  ?  " 

"He  commands  a  brigade  in  Porter's  corps.  We  are  just 
in  rear  of  his  camp  —  Morell's  division." 


164  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"And  you  suppose  that  his  order  indicates  the  situation 
here  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  evidently  your  troops  are  prepared  to  move.  I  am 
almost  sorry  that  I  have  sent  for  Lydia  to  come." 

"  And  they  will  move  to  the  right  ?  " 

"  Unquestionably ;  there  is  no  longer  any  doubt  that  your 
right  flank  is  threatened." 

"  Then  why  not  fall  back  to  the  left  ?  " 

"  McClellan  cannot  afford  personally  to  make  any  movement 
that  would  look  like  retreat.  Your  right  is  threatened,  and 
your  right  will  hold ;  it  may  attack." 

"Doctor,  why  is  it  that  you  always  say  your  instead  of 
our  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  neutral,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"But  your  sympathies  are  with  us." 

"  Only  in  part ;  the  Southern  cause  is  weak  through  slavery, 
but  strong  in  many  other  points.  I  think  we  have  discussed 
this  before." 

That  we  had  done  so  did  not  prevent  us  from  discussing  it 
again.  The  Doctor  seemed  never  to  tire  of  presenting  argu- 
ments for  the  complete  abolition  of  slavery,  while  his  even 
balance  of  mind  allowed  him  to  sympathize  keenly  with  the 
political  contention  of  the  South. 

We  had  been  talking  for  half  an  hour  or  so,  when  we  heard 
some  one  approaching. 

The  Doctor  rose  and  admitted  an  officer.  I  saluted;  then 
I  was  presented  to  Captain  Auchmuty,  of  General  MorelPs 
staff. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  my  visit  will  not  prove  pleasant,  Doctor," 
he  said.  "  General  Morell  has  learned  that  Mr.  Berwick  is 
here,  and  proposes  to  borrow  him,  if  possible." 

The  captain  looked  first  at  Dr.  Khayme,  and  then  at  me ; 
the  Doctor  looked  at  me ;  I  looked  at  the  ground. 

The  captain  continued,  "Of  course,  General  Morell  under- 
stands that  he  is  asking  a  favour  rather  than  giving  an  order ; 


WITH  THE  DOCTOR  ON  THE   RIGHT         165 

but  if  he  knows  the  circumstances,  he  believes  you  are  ready  to 
go  anywhere  you  may  be  needed." 

"  General  Morell  is  very  kind,"  said  I ;  "  may  I  know  what 
work  is  required  of  me  ?  " 

"Nothing  is  required;  that  is  literally  true,"  said  Captain 
Auchmuty.  "  General  Morell  asks  a  favour ;  if  you  will  be  so 
good  as  to  accompany  me  to  his  tent,  you  shall  have  the  matter 
explained." 

The  courtesy  with  which  General  Morell  was  treating  me  — 
for  he  could  just  as  easily  have  sent  for  me  by  his  orderly  — 
made  me  think  myself  his  debtor. 

"  I  will  go  with  you,  Captain,"  said  I ;  "  good-by,  Doctor." 

"  Ko,"  said  the  captain ;  "  you  will  not  be  taken  so  suddenly. 
I  promise  that  you  may  return  in  an  hour." 


XVI 

BETWEEN    THE    LINES 

"Here  stand,  my  lords  ;  and  send  discoverers  forth, 
To  know  the  number  of  our  enemies." 

—  Shakespeare. 

In  General  Morell's  tent  were  two  officers,  afterward  known 
to  me  as  Generals  Morell  and  Butterfield.  It  was  not  yet  quite 
dark. 

The  officer  who  had  conducted  me,  presented  me  to  General 
Morell.  In  the  conversation  which  followed,  General  Butter- 
field  seemed  greatly  interested,  but  took  no  part  at  all. 

General  Morell  spoke  kindly  to  me.  "  1  have  sent  for  you," 
he  said,  "  because  I  am  told  that  you  are  faithful,  and  that  you 
are  prudent  as  well  as  accurate.  We  need  information,  and  I 
hope  you  will  get  it  for  us." 

"  I  am  willing  to  do  my  best,  General,"  said  I,  "  provided 
that  my  absence  is  explained  to  General  Grover's  satisfaction." 

"  It  is  General  Grover  himself  who  recommends  you,"  said 
he  ;  "  he  is  willing  to  let  us  profit  by  your  services  while  his 
brigade  is  likely  to  remain  inactive.     I  will  show  you  his  note." 

Captain  Auchmuty  handed  me  an  open  note  ;  I  read  from 
General  Grover  the  expression  used  by  General  Morell. 

"  This  is  perfectly  satisfactory,  General,"  I  said ;  "  I  will  do 
my  best  for  you." 

"  No  man  can  do  more.  Now,  come  here.  Look  at  this  map, 
which  you  will  take  with  you  if  you  wish." 

The  general  moved  his  seat  up  to  a  camp-bed,  on  which  he 
spread  the  map.  I  was  standing ;  he  made  me  take  a  seat  near 
him. 

166 


BETWEEN  THE   LINES  167 

"  First,  I  will  show  you  generally  what  I  want  you  to  do ; . 
how  you  are  to  do  it,  you  must  decide  for  yourself.  Here," 
said  he,  putting  the  point  of  his  pencil  on  the  map,  "  here  is 
where  we  are  now.  Up  here  is  Hanover  Junction,  with  Han- 
over Court-House  several  miles  this  side — about  this  spot. 
You  are  to  get  to  both  places  and  find  out  if  the  enemy  is  at 
either,  or  both,  and  in  what  force.  If  he  is  not  at  either  place, 
you  are  to  move  along  the  railroad  in  the  direction  of  Rich- 
mond, until  you  find  the  enemy." 

"  Are  there  not  two  railroads  at  Hanover  Junction,  General  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  the  Virginia  Central  and  the  Richmond  and  Freder- 
icksburg ;  they  cross  at  the  Junction." 

"  Which  railroad  shall  I  follow  ?  " 

"Ah,  I  see  you  are  careful.  It  will  be  well  for  you  to 
learn  something  of  the  situation  on  both  of  them;  but  take 
the  Central  if  you  are  compelled  to  choose  —  the  one  nearest 
to  us." 

"  Well,  sir." 

"If  no  enemy  is  found  within  eight  or  ten  miles  of  the 
Junction,  you  need  not  trouble  yourself  further ;  but  if  he  is 
found  in  say  less  than  eight  miles  of  the  Junction,  you  are  to 
diligently  get  all  the  knowledge  you  can  of  his  position,  his 
force  in  all  arms,  and,  if  possible,  his  purposes." 

"  I  suppose  that  by  the  enemy  you  mean  some  considerable 
body,  not  a  mere  scouting  party." 

"  Yes,  of  course.  Hunt  for  big  game.  Don't  bother  with 
raiders  or  foragers." 

"  The  Junction  seems  to  be  on  the  other  side  of  the  Pamun- 
key  River,"  said  I. 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  between  the  North  Anna  and  the  South  Anna, 
which  form  the  Pamunkey  a  few  miles  below  the  Junction." 

"  Then,  supposing  that  I  find  the  rebels  in  force  at  Hanover 
Court-House,  would  there  be  any  need  for  me  to  go  on  to  the 
Junction  ?  " 

"  None  at  all,"  said  the  general ;  "  you  would  only  be  losing 


168  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

time ;  in  case  you  find  the  enemy  in  force  anywhere,  you  must 
return  and  inform  us  just  as  soon  as  you  can  ascertain  his 
strength.  But  if  you  find  no  enemy  at  Hanover  Court-House, 
or  near  it,  or  even  if  you  find  a  small  force,  such  as  a  party  of 
cavalry,  you  should  try  to  get  to  the  Junction." 

"Very  well,  General;  how  long  do  you  expect  me  to  be 
gone  ?  " 

"  I  can  give  you  four  days  at  the  outside." 

"  Counting  to-night  ?  " 

"  No ;  beginning  to-morrow.  I  shall  expect  you  by  the 
morning  of  the  27th,  and  shall  hope  to  see  you  earlier." 

"I  shall  not  wish  to  be  delayed,"  said  I. 

"  You  shall  have  horses  ;  relays  if  you  wish,"  said  he. 

"  In  returning  shall  I  report  to  any  officer  I  first  chance  to 
meet  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No ;  not  unless  you  know  the  enemy  to  be  particularly 
active ;  in  that  case,  use  your  judgment ;  of  course  you  would 
not  let  any  force  of  ours  run  the  risk  of  being  surprised,  but, 
all  things  equal,  better  reserve  your  report  for  me." 

"  And  shall  I  find  you  here,  sir  ?  " 

"  If  I  am  not  here,  you  may  report  to  General  Butterfield ; 
if  this  command  moves,  I  will  leave  orders  for  you." 

"  At  about  what  point  will  my  danger  begin.  General  ?  " 

"  You  will  be  in  danger  from  scouting  parties  of  the  rebel 
cavalry  from  the  mort>ent  when  you  reach  this  point,"  putting 
his  pencil  on  a  spot  marked  Old  Church,  "  and  you  will  be 
delayed  in  getting  around  them  perhaps.  You  have  a  full 
day  to  Hanover  Court-House,  and  another  day  to  the  Junction, 
if  you  find  that  you  must  go  there ;  that  gives  you  two  days 
more  ;  but  if  you  find  the  enemy  at  the  Court-House,  you  may 
get  back  in  three  days." 

"  Why  should  I  go  by  Old  Church  ?  " 

"Well,  it  seems  longer,  but  it  will  prove  shorter  in  the  end ; 
the  country  between  Old  Church  and  Mechanics ville  is  neutral 
ground,  and  you  would  be  delayed  in  going  through  it." 


BETWEEN   THE  LINES 


169 


,  Haapver  Junction 


Jfiver 


Ferry 


ENGRAVEfi  BY  lOttMAY  &  CO., 


170  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

"Am  I  to  report  the  conditions  between  Old  Churcli  and 
Hanover  Court- House  ?  " 

"Take  no  time  for  that,  but  impress  the  character  of  the 
roads  and  the  profile  of  the  country  on  your  mind  —  I  mean  in 
regard  to  military  obstacles ;  of  course  if  you  find  rebels  in 
there,  a  force,  I  mean  —  look  into  them." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  am  ready." 

"You  may  have  everything  you  want;  as  many  men  as  you 
want,  mounted  or  afoot;  can  you  start  to-morrow  morning, 
Berwick  ?  " 

"  Yes,  General ;  by  daylight  I  want  to  be  at  Old  Church. 
Please  have  a  good  man  to  report  to  me  two  hours  before  day." 

"  Mounted  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  and  with  a  led  saddle  horse  and  three  days'  rations 
and  corn  —  or  oats  would  be  better.     Let  him  come  armed." 

"  Very  well,  Berwick.     Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  think  that  will  do.  I  suppose  the  man  will 
know  the  road  to  Old  Church." 

"If  not,  I  will  send  a  guide  along.  Now,  Berwick,  good 
night,  and  good  luck.  You  have  my  thanks,  and  you  shall 
have  more  if  your  success  will  justify  it." 

"  Good  night,  General.     I  will  do  my  best." 

******* 

Dr.  Khayme  argued  that  I  should  not  make  this  venture  in 
disguise,  and  I  had  great  doubt  what  to  do  ;  however,  I  at 
last  compromised  matters  by  deciding  to  take  the  Confederate 
uniform  to  be  used  in  case  I  should  need  it.  A  thought 
occurred  to  me:  "Doctor,"  said  I,  "these  palmetto  buttons 
might  prove  a  bad  thing.  Suppose  I  should  get  into  a  brigade 
of  Georgians  occupying  some  position  where  there  are  no  other 
troops  ;  what  would  a  Carolinian  be  doing  amongst  them  ?  " 

"  I  have  provided  for  that,"  said  the  Doctor ;  "  you  see  that 
these  buttons  are  fastened  with  rings ;  here  are  others  that  are 
smooth :  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  change  when  you  wish  —  it 
takes  but   a  few  moments.     However,  nobody  would   notice 


BETWEEN  THE  LINES  171 

your  buttons  unless  you  should  be  within  six  feet  of  him  and  in 
broad  daylight." 

''Yet  I  think  it  would  be  better  to  change  now,"  said  I; 
"there  are  more  Confederates  than  Carolinians." 

The  Doctor  assented,  and  we  made  the  change.  I  put  the 
palmetto  buttons  into  my  haversack. 

Before  I  slept  everything  had  been  prepared  for  the  jour- 
ney. I  studied  the  map  carefully  and  left  it  with  the  Doctor. 
The  gray  clothing  was  wrapped  in  a  gum-blanket,  to  be 
strapped  to  the  saddle.  My  escort  was  expected  to  provide 
for  everything  else.  I  decided  to  wear  a  black  soft  hat  of  the 
Doctor's,  whose  head  was  as  big  as  mine,  although  he  weighed 
about  half  as  much  as  I  did.  My  own  shoes  were  coarse 
enough,  and  of  no  peculiar  make.  In  my  pockets  I  put  noth- 
ing except  a  knife,  some  Confederate  money,  some  silver  coin, 
and  a  ten-dollar  note  of  the  bank  of  Hamburg,  South  Carolina 
—  a  note  which  Dr.  Khayme  possessed  and  which  he  insisted 
on  my  taking.  There  would  be  nothing  on  me  to  show  that  I 
was  a  Union  soldier,  except  my  uniform.    I  would  go  unarmed. 

Before  daylight  I  was  aroused.  My  man  was  waiting  for 
me  outside  the  tent.  I  intended  to  slip  out  without  disturb- 
ing the  Doctor,  but  he  was  already  awake.  He  pressed  my 
hand,  but  said  not  a  word. 

The  man  and  I  mounted  and  took  the  road,  he  leading. 

"  Do  you  know  the  way  to  Old  Church  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  he. 

"  ^Vhat  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Jones,  sir  ;  don't  you  know  me  ?  " 

"  What  ?     My  friend  of  the  black  horse  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  But  I  believe  you  are  in  blue  this  time." 

"  Yes  ;  I  got  no  orders." 

I  was  glad  to  have  Jones ;  he  was  a  self-reliant  man,  I  had 
already  had  occasion  to  know. 

We  marched  rapidly,  Jones  always  in  the  lead.     The  air 


172  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

was  fine.  The  morning  star  shone  tranquil  on  our  right. 
Vega  glittered  overhead,  and  Capella  in  the  far  northeast, 
while  at  our  front  the  handle  of  the  Dipper  cut  the  horizon. 
The  atmosphere  was  so  pure  that  I  looked  for  the  Pleiades,  to 
count  them ;  they  had  not  risen. 

We  passed  at  first  along  a  road  on  either  side  of  which 
troops  lay  in  bivouac,  with  here  and  there  the  tent  of  some 
field  ofl&cer ;  then  parks  of  artillery  showed  in  the  fields  ;  then 
long  lines  of  wagons,  with  horses  and  mules  picketed  behind. 
Occasionally  we  met  a  horseman,  but  nothing  was  said  to  him 
or  by  him. 

Now  the  encampment  was  behind  us,  and  we  rode  along  a 
lane  where  nothing  was  seen  except  fields  and  woods. 

"  Jones,"  said  I ;  *'  are  you  furnished  with  credentials  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  replied ;  "  if  our  pickets  or  patrols  stop  us,  I 
can  satisfy  them." 

At  daylight  we  were  halted,  Jones  rode  forward  alone,  then 
returned  and  explained  that  our  post  would  admit  us.  We 
passed  a  mounted  vedette,  and  then  went  on  for  a  few  hundred 
yards  until  we  came  to  a  crossroad. 

"  We  are  at  Old  Church,"  said  Jones. 

"  And  we  have  nobody  here  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  our  men  are  over  there,  but  I  suppose  we  are  to 
take  the  left  here  ;  we  have  another  picket-post  half  a  mile  up 
the  road." 

"  Then  we  will  stop  with  them  and  breakfast,"  said  I.  We 
took  to  the  left  —  toward  the  west.  At  the  picket-post  the  road 
forked ;  a  blacksmith's  shop  was  at  the  north  of  the  road.  The 
sun  had  nearly  risen. 

The  picket  consisted  of  a  squad  of  cavalry  under  Lieutenant 
Russell.  He  gave  me  all  the  information  he  could.  The  right- 
hand  road,  by  the  blacksmith's  shop,  went  across  the  Totopoto- 
moy  Creek  near  its  mouth,  he  said,  and  then  went  on  to  the 
Pamunkey  River,  and  at  the  place  where  it  crossed  the  Pamun- 
key  another  road  came  in,  running  down  the  river  from  Han- 


BET\VEEN  THE  LI:N"ES  173 

over  Court-House.  He  was  sure  that  the  road  which  came  in 
was  the  road  from  Hanover  to  the  ferry  at  Hanover  Old  Town ; 
he  believed  the  ferry  had  not  yet  been  destroyed.  This  agreed 
with  the  map.  I  asked  him  where  the  left-hand  road  went. 
He  said  he  thought  it  was  the  main  road  to  Hanover  Court- 
House  ;  that  it  ran  away  from  the  river  for  a  considerable  dis- 
tance, but  united  higher  up  with  the  river  road.  This  also 
agreed  with  the  map.  I  had  scratched  on  the  lining  of  my  hat 
the  several  roads  given  on  the  map  as  the  roads  from  Old 
Church  to  Hanover  Court-House,  so  that,  in  case  my  memory 
should  flag,  I  could  have  some  resource,  but  I  found  that  1 
could  remember  without  uncovering. 

The  lieutenant  could  tell  me  little  concerning  distances; 
what  he  knew  did  not  disaccord  with  my  small  knowledge.  I 
asked  him  if  he  knew  where  the  nearest  post  of  the  enemy  was 
now.  "  They  are  coming  and  going,"  said  he  ;  "  one  day  they 
will  be  moving,  and  then  a  day  will  pass  without  our  hearing 
of  them.     K  they  have  a  post  anywhere,  I  don't  know  it." 

"  And  there  are  none  of  our  men  beyond  this  point  ?  " 

"  No  —  nobody  at  all,"  said  he. 

Jones  had  given  the  horses  a  mouthful  of  oats,  and  we  had 
swallowed  our  breakfast,  the  lieutenant  kindly  giving  us  coffee. 
For  several  reasons  I  thought  it  best  to  take  the  road  to  the 
left :  first,  it  was  away  from  the  river,  which  the  rebels  were 
supposed  to  be  watching  closely  ;  second,  the  distance  seemed 
not  so  great ;  and,  third,  it  was  said  to  traverse  a  less  populous 
region. 

I  had  now  to  determine  the  order  of  our  advance,  and  decided 
that  we  should  ride  forward  alternately,  at  least  until  we 
should  strike  the  crossing  of  the  Totopotomoy  Creek ;  so  I 
halted  Jones,  rode  forward  for  fifty  yards  or  so,  then  stopped 
and  beckoned  to  him  to  come  on.  As  he  went  by  me  I  told  him 
to  continue  to  advance  until  he  should  reach  a  turn  in  the  road ; 
then  he  should  halt  and  let  me  pass  him.  At  the  first  stop  he 
made  I  saw  with  pleasure  that  he  had  the  good  judgment  to 


174  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

halt  on  the  side  of  the  road  amongst  the  bushes.  I  now  rode 
up  to  him  in  turn,  and  paused  before  passing. 

"  You  have  kept  your  eyes  on  the  stretch  in  front  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  have  seen  nothing  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  not  a  thing." 

"  You  understand  why  we  advance  in  this  manner  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  can  watch  for  you,  and  you  can  watch  for  me,  and 
both  can  watch  for  both." 

"  Yes,  and  not  only  that.  We  can  hardly  both  be  caught  at 
the  same  time ;  one  of  us  might  be  left  to  tell  the  tale." 

I  went  on  by.  The  road  here  ran  through  woods,  but  shortly 
a  field  was  seen  in  front,  with  a  house  at  the  left  of  the  road, 
and  I  changed  tactics.  When  Jones  had  reached  me,  we  rode 
together  through  the  field,  went  on  quickly  past  the  house,  and 
on  to  another  thicket,  in  the  edge  of  which  we  found  a  school- 
house  ;  but  just  before  reaching  the  thicket  I  made  Jones  follow 
me  at  the  distance  of  some  forty  yards.  I  had  made  this 
change  of  procedure  because  I  had  been  able  to  see  that  there 
was  nobody  in  the  stretch  of  road  passing  the  house,  and  I 
thought  it  better  for  two  at  once  to  be  exposed  to  possible  view 
from  the  house  for  a  minute  than  one  each  for  a  minute. 

We  had  not  seen  a  soul. 

We  again  proceeded  according  to  our  first  programme,  I  rid- 
ing forward  for  fifty  yards  or  so,  and  Jones  passing  me,  and 
alternately  thus  until  we  saw,  just  beyond  us,  a  road  coming 
into  ours  from  the  southwest.  On  the  north  of  our  road,  and 
about  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  from  the  spot  where  we  had 
halted,  was  a  farmhouse,  which  I  supposed  was  the  Linney 
house  marked  on  the  map.  The  road  at  the  left,  I  knew  from 
the  map,  went  straight  to  Mechanicsville  and  thence  to  Rich- 
mond, and  I  suspected  that  it  was  freqiiently  patrolled  by  the 
rebel  cavalry.  We  remained  in  hiding  at  a  short  distance  from 
the  house,  and  consulted.  I  feared  to  pass  openly  on  the  road 
—  two  roads,  in  fact  —  opposite  the  house,  for  discovery  and 


BETWEEN  THE   LINES  175 

pursuit  at  this  time  would  mean  the  abortion  of  the  whole  en- 
terprise. Every  family  in  this  section  could  reasonably  be  sup- 
posed to  have  furnished  men  to  the  Confederate  army  near  by, 
and,  if  we  should  be  seen  by  any  person  whomsoever,  there 
was  great  probability  that  our  presence  would  be  at  once  di- 
vulged to  the  nearest  rebels.  The  result  of  our  consultation 
was  our  turning  back.  We  rode  down  toward  Old  Church 
until  we  came  to  a  forest  stretching  north  of  the  road,  which 
we  now  left,  and  made  through  the  woods  a  circuit  of  the  Lin- 
ney  house,  and  reached  the  Hanover  road  again  in  the  low 
grounds  of  Totopotomoy  Creek.  We  had  seen  no  one.  The 
creek  bottom  was  covered  with  forest  and  dense  undergrowth. 
We  crossed  the  creek  some  distance  below  the  road,  and  kept  in 
the  woods  for  a  mile  without  having  to  venture  into  the  open. 

It  was  about  nine  o'clock ;  we  had  made  something  like 
three  miles  since  we  had  left  Old  Church. 

In  order  to  get  beyond  the  next  crossroad,  it  was  evident 
that  we  must  rnn  some  risk  of  being  seen  from  four  directions 
at  once,  or  else  we  must  flank  the  crossing. 

By  diverging  to  the  right,  we  fonnd  woods  to  conceal  us  all 
the  way  until  we  were  in  sight  of  the  crossroad.  I  dismounted, 
and  bidding  Jones  remain,  crept  forward  until  I  could  see 
both  ways,  up  and  down,  on  the  road.  There  were  houses  at 
my  left  —  some  two  hundred  yards  off,  and  but  indistinctly 
seen  through  the  trees  —  on  both  sides  of  the  road,  but  no 
person  was  visible.  Just  at  my  right  the  road  sank  between 
two  elevations.  I  went  to  the  hollow  and  found  that  from  this 
position  the  houses  could  not  be  seen.  I  went  back  to  Jones, 
and  together  we  led  our  horses  across  the  road  through  the 
hollow.  We  mounted  and  rode  rapidly  away  through  the 
woods,  and  reached  the  Hanover  road  at  a  point  two  miles  or 
more  beyond  the  Linney  house. 

We  now  felt  that  if  there  was  any  post  of  rebels  in  these 
parts  it  would  be  found  behind  Crump's  Creek,  which  was  per- 
haps half  a  mile  at  our  left,  running  north  into  the  Pamunkey. 


176  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

We  turned  to  the  left  and  made  for  Crump's  Creek.  We 
found  an  easy  crossing,  and  we  soon  reached  the  Hanover  river 
road,  within  four  miles,  I  thought,  of  Hanover  Court-House. 

And  now  our  danger  was  really  to  become  immediate,  and 
our  fear  oppressive.  We  were  in  sight  of  the  main  road  run- 
ning from  Hanover  Court-House  down  the  Pamunkey  —  a  road 
that  was  no  doubt  covered  by  the  enemy's  plans,  and  on  which 
bodies  of  his  cavalry  frequently  operated.  If  the  force  at 
Hanover  Court-House,  or  the  Junction,  were  seeking  to  get 
to  the  rear  of  McClellan's  right  wing,  this  would  be  the  road 
by  which  it  would  march ;  this  road  then,  beyond  all  question, 
was  constantly  watched,  and  there  was  strong  probability  that 
rebels  were  kept  posted  in  good  positions  upon  it.  But  for 
the  fact  that  I  might  find  it  necessary  to  reach  the  Junction, 
I  should  now  have  gone  forward  afoot. 

I  decided  to  use  still  greater  circumspection  in  going  farther 
forward,  and  to  get  near  the  enemy's  post,  if  there  should  prove 
to  be  one,  at  the  Court-House,  only  after  nightfall.  Thus  we 
had  from  ten  o'clock  until  dark  —  nine  hours  or  more  —  in 
which  to  make  our  gradual  approach. 

The  country  was  so  diversified  with  woods  and  fields  that 
we  found  it  always  possible  to  keep  within  shelter.  When  we 
lost  sight  of  the  road,  Jones  or  I  would  climb  a  tree.  By  mak- 
ing great  detours  we  went  around  every  field,  consuming  much 
time,  it  is  true,  but  we  had  plenty  of  time.  We  avoided  every 
habitation,  and  chose  the  thickest  of  the  woods  and  the  deep- 
est of  the  hollows,  and  so  conducted  our  advance  that,  remark- 
able as  it  may  seem,  from  the  time  we  left  our  outposts  at  Old 
Church  until  we  came  in  sight  of  the  enemy  near  Hanover 
Court-House,  we  did  not  see  a  human  being,  though  the  dis- 
tance traversed  must  have  been  fully  twelve  miles.  Of  course, 
I  knew  that  it  was  very  likely  that  we  ourselves  had  been 
seen  by  more  than  one  frightened  inhabitant,  but  it  was  my 
care  to  keep  at  such  a  distance  from  every  dwelling  house  that 
no  one  there  could  tell  whether  we  were  friend  or  enemy. 


BETWEEN  THE   LINES  177 

At  noon  we  took  our  ease  in  a  hollow  in  the  midst  of  a 
thicket.  While  we  were  resting  we  heard  far  to  our  rear  a 
distant  sound  that  resembled  the  discharge  of  artillery.  We 
learned  afterward  that  the  sound  came  from  Mechanicsville, 
occupied  this  day  by  the  advance  of  McClellan's  right. 

About  two  o'clock  we  again  set  out.  We  climbed  a  hill 
from  which  we  could  see  over  a  considerable  stretch  of  country. 
The  field  in  front  of  us  was  large;  it  would  require  a  long 
detour  to  avoid  the  open  space.  Still,  we  were  not  pressed  for 
time,  and  I  was  determined  to  be  prudent.  The  only  question 
was  whether  we  should  flank  the  field  at  the  right  or  at  the 
left.  From  our  point  of  observation,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the 
field  in  front  stretched  sufficiently  far  to  the  north  to  reach 
the  Hanover  road ;  if  this  were  true,  our  only  course  was  by 
the  left.  To  be  as  nearly  sure  as  possible,  I  sent  Jones  up  a 
tree.  I  regretted  very  much  that  I  had  not  brought  a  good 
field-glass,  and  wondered  why  General  Morell  had  not  thought 
of  it.  Jones  remained  in  the  tree  a  long  time  ;  I  had  forbidden 
his  speaking,  lest  the  sound  of  his  voice  should  reach  the  ear  of 
some  unseen  enemy.  When  he  came  down  he  said  that  the  road 
did  go  through  the  field  and  that  there  were  men  in  the  road. 

I  now  climbed  the  tree  in  my  turn,  and  saw  very  distinctly, 
not  more  than  half  a  mile  away,  a  small  body  of  men  in  the 
road.  They  seemed  to  be  infantry  and  to  be  stationary ;  but 
while  I  was  looking  they  began  to  move  in  the  direction  of 
Hanover  Court-House.  There  were  bushes  on  the  sides  of  the 
road  where  they  were ;  soon  they  passed  beyond  the  bushes, 
and  I  could  see  that  the  men  were  mounted.  I  watched  them 
until  they  were  lost  to  sight  where  the  road  entered  the  woods 
beyond.  I  had  counted  eleven ;  I  supposed  there  were  ten  men 
under  command  of  an  officer. 

It  was  now  clear  that  we  must  flank  the  big  field  on  its  left. 
We  acted  with  great  caution.  The  fence  stretched  far  be- 
yond the  corner  of  the  field ;  we  let  down  the  fence,  led  our 
horses  in,  then  put  up  the  gap,  and  rode  into  the  woods  on  the 


178  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

edge  of  tlie  field.  In  some  places  the  undergrowth  was  low, 
and  we  feared  that  our  heads  might  be  seen  above  our  horses ; 
in  such  places  we  dismounted.  We  passed  at  a  distance  one 
or  two  small  houses  —  not  dwellings,  we  thought,  but  field 
barns  or  cribs.  At  length  we  reached  the  western  side  of  the 
field ;  we  had  gained  greatly  in  position,  though  we  were  but 
little  nearer  to  Hanover. 

We  supposed  that  we  were  almost  half  a  mile  from  the  road, 
and  that  we  were  in  no  pressing  danger.  When  we  had  gone 
north  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  we  dismounted,  and  while  Jones 
remained  with  the  horses,  I  crept  through  the  woods  until  I 
could  see  the  road.  It  was  deserted.  I  crept  nearer  and 
nearer  until  I  was  almost  on  its  edge ;  sheltered  by  the  bushes 
I  could  see  a  long  distance  either  way.  At  my  left  was  a 
house,  some  two  hundred  yards  away  and  on  the  far  side  of  the 
road.  I  watched  the  house.  The  men  I  had  seen  in  the  road 
might  have  stopped  in  the  house;  there  might  be  —  indeed, 
there  ought  to  be  —  an  outpost  near  me,  and  this  house  would 
naturally  be  visited  very  often.  But  I  saw  nothing,  and  at  last 
crept  back  into  the  woods  for  a  short  distance,  and  advanced 
again  parallel  with  the  road,  until  I  came,  as  I  supposed,  oppo- 
site the  house ;  then  I  crept  up  to  the  road  again.  I  could  now 
see  the  yard  in  front  of  the  house,  and  even  through  the  house 
from  front  to  back  door ;  it  was  a  small  house  of  but  two  rooms. 
It  now  began  to  seem  as  though  the  house  was  an  abandoned 
one,  in  which  case  the  rebels  would  likely  never  stop  there, 
unless  for  water.  I  saw  no  well  in  the  yard.  There  was  no 
sign  of  life. 

I  turned  again  and  sought  the  woods,  and  again  advanced 
parallel  with  the  road,  until,  in  about  three  hundred  yards,  I 
could  see  a  field  in  my  front.  This  field  ran  up  to  the  road, 
and  beyond  the  road  there  was  another  field,  the  road  running 
between  rail  fences.  I  returned  to  Jones,  whom  I  found  some- 
what alarmed  in  consequence  of  my  long  absence,  and  we 
brought  the  horses  up  to  the  spot  to  which  I  had  advanced. 


BETWEEN  THE  LINES  179 

It  was  now  about  four  o'clock,  and  we  had  yet  three  hours  of 
daylight.  Hanover  could  not  be  much  more  than  two  miles 
from  us. 

The  field  in  front  was  not  wide ;  it  sloped  down  to  a  heavily 
wooded  hollow,  in  which  I  judged  there  was  a  stream.  As  I  was 
yet  quite  unsatisfied  in  regard  to  the  house  almost  in  our  rear, 
I  asked  Jones  to  creej)  back  and  observe  the  place  thoroughly. 

He  returned;  I  could  see  news  in  his  face.  "They  are 
passing  now,"  he  said. 

No  need  to  ask  who  "they"  meant.  We  took  our  horses 
deeper  into  the  woods.  There  Jones  told  me  that  he  had  seen 
some  thirty  men,  in  two  squads,  more  than  a  hundred  yards 
apart,  ride  fast  toward  Hanover. 

"  But  why  could  I  not  see  them  in  the  road  yonder,  as  they 
went  through  the  field  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Because  the  road  there  is  washed  too  deep.  Their  heads 
would  not  show  above  the  fence,"  he  said. 

I  tried  to  fathom  the  meaning  of  the  rapid  movement  of 
these  small  bodies  of  rebels,  but  could  get  nothing  out  of  it, 
except  the  supposition  that  our  cavalry  had  pushed  on  up  the 
road  after  we  had  passed  Old  Church.  There  might  be,  and 
doubtless  were,  several  attempts  made  this  day  to  ascertain  the 
position  of  the  rebels. 

No  crossing  of  that  road  now  and  trying  the  rebel  left ! 
We  went  to  the  left  of  the  field.  It  was  about  five  o'clock. 
We  reached  the  foot  of  a  hill  and  saw  a  small  creek  ahead  of 
us.     I  now  felt  that  I  must  go  forward  alone. 

To  make  sure  that  I  could  find  Jones  again,  I  stationed  him 
in  the  creek  swamp  near  the  corner  of  the  field.  We  agreed 
upon  a  signal. 

I  crept  forward  through  the  swamp,  converging  toward  the 
road.  I  crossed  the  stream,  and  reached  a  point  from  which 
I  could  see  the  road  ;  it  ran  up  a  hill ;  on  the  hill  I  could  see 
a  group  of  men.  Here,  I  was  convinced,  was  the  Confederate 
picket-line,  if  there  was  a  line. 


180  WHO   GOES  THEEE? 

A  thick-topped  tree  was  growing  some  thirty  yards  from  the 
edge  of  the  road ;  from,  its  boughs  I  could  see  mounted  men 
facing  east,  nearer  to  me  than  the  group  above.  The  sun  had 
nearly  set;  it  shone  on  sabres  and  carbines.  I  was  hoping 
there  was  no  infantry  picket-line.  I  came  down  from  the  tree, 
returned  rapidly  to  Jones,  and  got  ready.  I  told  him  to  make 
himself  comfortable  for  the  night,  and  to  wait  for  me  no  longer 
than  two  o'clock  the  next  day.  The  package  containing  the 
gray  clothing  I  took  with  me.  I  would  not  put  it  on  until  I 
should  see  that  nothing  else  would  do. 

And  now,  feeling  that  it  was  for  the  last  time,  I  again  went 
forward.  I  had  decided  to  try  to  penetrate  the  picket-line  if 
I  should  find  it  to  be  a  very  long  line ;  if  it  proved  to  be  a  line 
that  I  could  turn,  I  would  go  round  it,  and  when  on  its  flank 
I  would  act  as  opportunity  should  offer.  If  the  enemy's  force 
were  small,  I  might  see  it  all  from  the  outside ;  but  if  it  con- 
sisted of  brigades  and  divisions,  I  would  put  on  the  disguise 
and  throw  away  my  own  uniform. 

Twilight  had  deepened ;  on  the  hills  in  front  fires  were 
beginning  to  show.  I  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which 
I  had  seen  the  rebel  picket-post,  and  moved  on  slowly.  I  was 
unarmed,  carrying  nothing  but  the  gray  clothes  wrapped  in 
the  gum-blanket. 

The  hill  was  spotted  with  clumps  of  low  bushes,  but  there 
were  no  trees.  At  every  step  I  paused  and  listened.  I  thought 
I  could  hear  voices  far  away.  Halfway  up  the  hill  I  stopped ; 
the  voices  were  nearer  —  or  louder,  possibly. 

I  now  ceased  advancing  directly  up  the  hill;  instead,  I 
moved  off  at  a  right  angle  toward  the  left,  trying  to  keep  a 
line  parallel  with  the  supposed  picket-line,  and  listening  hard. 
A  rabbit  sprang  up  from  almost  under  my  feet.  I  was  glad 
that  it  did  not  run  up  the  hill.  Voices  continued  to  come  to 
my  ears,  but  from  far  away.  I  supposed  that  the  line  was 
more  than  three  hundred  yards  from  me,  and  that  vedettes 
were   between  us;   but  for  the  vedettes,  I  should  have  gone 


BETWEEN  THE  LINES  181 

nearer.  I  knew  that  I  was  in  no  great  danger  so  long  as  the 
pickets  would  talk.  The  voices  made  me  sure  that  these 
pickets  did  not  feel  themselves  in  the  presence  of  an  enemy. 
They  evidently  knew  that  they  had  bodies  of  cavalry  on  all  the 
roads  leading  to  their  front.  Possibly  they  were  prepared  for 
attack  by  any  body  of  men,  but  they  were  not  prepared  against 
observation  by  one  man;  they  were  trusting  their  cavalry  for 
that.  So  long,  then,  as  I  could  hear  the  voices,  I  felt  com- 
paratively safe.  The  pickets  could  not  see  me,  for  I  was  down 
the  hill  from  them — much  below  their  sky  line;  if  one  of 
them  should  happen  to  be  in  their  front  for  any  purpose,  he 
would  think  of  me  as  I  should  think  of  him ;  he  certainly 
would  not  suppose  me  an  enemy ;  if  he  should  be  alarmed,  I 
could  get  away. 

So  I  continued  moving  along  in  the  same  direction  until  I 
struck  woods,  where  the  hill  ceased  in  a  plateau ;  here  I  was 
on  level  ground,  and  I  could  see  in  the  distance  the  light  of 
camp-fires,  between  which  and  me  I  could  not  doubt  were  the 
pickets,  if  not  indeed  the  main  line  also,  of  the  enemy. 

I  kept  on.  The  ground  changed  again,  so  that  I  looked 
down  on  the  fires.  I  paused  and  reflected.  This  picket-line 
was  long ;  it  certainly  covered  more  than  a  regiment  or  two. 
Again  I  wished  that  I  were  on  the  north  side  of  the  road. 

The  camp-fires  now  seemed  more  distant  and  a  little  to  my 
right.  I  was  beginning  to  flatter  myself  with  the  belief  that 
I  had  reached  the  point  where  the  picket-line  bent  back,  I 
felt  encouraged. 

I  retired  some  twenty  yards,  and  then  went  on  more  boldly, 
still  pursuing  a  course  parallel,  as  I  thought,  with  the  picket- 
line  fronting  east.     Soon  I  reached  another  road. 

Should  I  cross  this  road  ?  It  ran  straight,  so  far  as  I  could 
see,  into  the  position  of  the  enemy ;  it  was  a  wide  road,  no 
doubt  one  of  the  main  roads  leading  to  Hanover  Court-House. 

I  looked  up  the  road  toward  the  enemy.  I  could  see  no 
camp-fires. 


182  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

I  thought  that  I  had  reached  the  enemy's  flank. 

A  troop  of  cavalry  rode  by,  going  to  their  front. 

I  felt  sure  that  I  was  right.  I  looked  and  found  the  north 
star  through  the  branches  of  the  trees.  I  was  right.  This 
road  ran  north  and  south.  The  picket-line  doubtless  reached 
the  road,  or  very  near  it,  and  bent  back ;  but  how  far  back  ? 
If  the  enemy  depended  upon  cavalry  for  their  flank,  —  and  this 
flank  was  toward  their  main  army  at  Richmond,  —  my  work 
would  be  easy. 

I  crossed  the  road,  and  crept  along  it  toward  Hanover. 
More  cavalry  rode  by.  I  kept  on,  doubting  more  strongly  the 
existence  of  any  infantry  pickets. 

An  ambulance  went  by,  going  north  into  camp. 

I  went  thirty  yards  deeper  into  the  woods.  I  took  every- 
thing out  of  my  pockets,  stripped  off  my  uniform,  and  covered 
it  with  leaves  as  well  as  I  could  in  the  darkness.  Then  I  put 
on  the  gray  clothes  and  twisted  the  gum-blanket  and  threw  it 
over  my  shoulder.  I  had  resolved  to  accompany  any  ambu- 
lance or  wagon  that  should  come  into  the  rebel  camp. 

Taking  my  station  by  the  side  of  the  road,  I  lay  down  and 
waited. 

Again  cavalry  rode  by,  this  squad  also  going  to  the  front. 
I  was  now  convinced  that  there  was  no  picket-line  here ;  this 
flank  was  protected  by  cavalry.  Now  I  was  glad  that  I  had 
not  tried  the  left  flank  of  the  rebel  line. 

I  heard  trains  rolling,  and  they  seemed  not  very  far  from 
me.     I  could  hear  the  engines  puffing. 

From  down  the  road  toward  Richmond  came  the  crack  of  a 
whip.  I  saw  a  team  coming  —  four  or  six  mules,  I  could  not 
yet  tell  in  the  night. 

A  heavy  wagon  came  lumbering  along.  I  was  about  to  step 
out  and  get  behind  it,  when  I  saw  another ;  it  passed,  and  still 
another  came.  As  the  last  one  went  by  I  rose  and  followed 
it,  keeping  bent  under  the  feed-box  which  was  slung  behind  it. 

I  marched  thus  into  the  rebel  camp  at  Hanover  Courfc-House. 


XVII 

THE   LINES    OF    HAKOVER 

"  Our  scouts  have  found  the  adventure  very  easy."  —  Shakespeare. 

Soon  the  wagons  turned  sharply  to  the  left,  following,  I 
thought,  a  new  road  cut  for  a  purpose ;  now  camp-fires  could 
be  seen  again,  and  near  by. 

The  cry  of  a  sentinel  was  heard  in  front,  and  the  wagons 
halted.  I  supposed  that  we  were  now  to  pass  the  camp  guard, 
which,  for  mere  form's  sake,  had  challenged  the  Confederate 
teamsters ;  I  crept  entirely  under  the  body  of  the  wagon. 

We  moved  on ;  I  saw  no  sentinel ;  doubtless  he  had  turned 
his  back  and  was  walking  toward  the  other  end  of  his  beat. 

The  wagon,  on  its  new  road,  was  now  passing  to  the  right 
of  an  encampment ;  long  rows  of  tents,  with  streets  between, 
showed  clearly  upon  a  hill  at  the  left.  In  the  streets  there 
were  many  groups  of  men;  some  of  them  were  talking  noisily ; 
some  were  singing.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  these  men  were  in 
good  spirits ;  they  surely  had  not  had  a  hard  march  that  day. 
For  my  part,  I  was  beginning  to  feel  very  tired ;  still,  I  knew 
that  excitement  would  keep  me  going  for  this  night,  and  for 
the  next  day,  if  need  be. 

The  wagon  passed  beyond  the  tents  ;  then,  judging  that  it 
was  to  go  on  until  it  should  be  far  in  the  rear,  I  stepped  aside 
and  was  alone  again,  and  with  the  Confederate  forces  between 
Jones  and  me. 

I  sat  on  the  ground,  and  tried  to  think.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  the  worst  was  over.  I  was  safer  here  than  I  had  been 
an  hour  ago,  while  following  up  the  picket-line  —  safer,  per- 

183 


184  WHO  GOES  THERE? 

haps,  than  I  had  been  at  any  time  that  day.  I  was  a  Confed- 
erate surrounded  by  an  army  who  wore  the  Southern  uniform. 
Nothing  less  than  stupidity  on  my  part  could  lose  me.  I  must 
still  act  cautiously  —  yet  without  the  appearance  of  caution ; 
that  was  a  more  difficult  matter. 

What  I  had  to  do  now  seemed  very  simple ;  it  was  merely 
the  work  of  walking  about  and  estimating  the  number  of  the 
rebels.  To  get  out  of  these  lines  would  not  be  any  more  difficult 
for  me  than  for  any  other  rebel. 

But  would  not  a  man  walking  hither  and  thither  in  the 
night  be  accosted  by  some  one  ? 

Well,  what  of  that  ?  As  soon  as  he  sees  me  near,  he  will 
be  satisfied. 

But  suppose  some  man  asks  you  what  regiment  you  belong 
to  —  what  can  you  say  ? 

Let  me  think.  The  troops  here  may  be  all  Virginians,  or 
all  Georgians,  and  I  am  a  South  Carolinian. 

The  sweat  rolled  down  my  face — unwholesome  sweat.  I 
had  allowed  my  imagination  to  carry  me  too  far ;  I  had  really 
put  myself  in  the  place  of  a  Carolinian  for  the  moment ;  the 
becoming  a  Union  soldier  again  was  sudden,  violent.  I  must 
guard  against  siich  transitions. 

Seeing  at  last  that  hiding  was  not  acting  cautiously  and 
without  the  appearance  of  caution,  I  rose  and  started  for  the 
camp-fires,  by  a  great  effort  of  will  dominating  my  discom- 
posure, and  determining  to  play  the  Confederate  soldier  amongst 
his  fellows.  I  would  go  to  the  men ;  would  talk  to  them  when 
necessary;  would  count  their  tents  and  their  stacks  of  arms  if 
possible;  would  learn,  as  soon  as  I  could,  the  name  of  some 
regiment,  so  that  if  I  were  questioned  I  could  answer. 

But  suppose  you  are  asked  your  regiment,  and  give  an  appro- 
priate answer,  and  then  are  asked  for  your  captain's  name  — 
what  can  you  say  ? 

I  beat  off  the  fearful  suggestion.  Strong  suspicion  alone 
could  prompt  such  an  inquiry.     There  was  no  more  reason  for 


THE   LINES   OF  HANOVER  186 

these  men  to  suspect  my  being  a  Union  soldier  than  there 
•was  for  me  to  suspect  that  one  of  these  men  was  a  Union 
soldier. 

I  was  approaching  the  encampment  from  the  rear.  Two 
men  overtook  me,  each  bending  under  a  load  of  many  canteens. 
They  passed  me  without  speaking.  I  followed  them  —  length- 
ening my  step  to  keep  near  them  —  and  went  with  them  to 
their  company.  I  stood  by  in  the  light  of  the  fires  while  they 
distributed  the  canteens,  or,  rather,  while  they  put  the  can- 
teens on  the  ground,  and  their  respective  owners  came  and 
got  them.     The  men  did  not  speak  to  me. 

I  had  hoped  to  find  the  Confederates  in  line  of  battle ;  they 
certainly  ought  to  have  been  in  line,  and  in  every  respect 
ready  for  action,  but,  instead,  they  were  here  in  tents  and 
without  any  preparation  against  surprise,  so  far  as  I  could  see, 
except  the  cavalry  pickets  thrown  out  on  the  roads.  If  they 
had  been  in  line,  it  would  have  been  easy  for  me  to  estimate  the 
number  of  bayonets  in  the  line  of  stacked  arms ;  I  was  greatly 
disappointed.  The  tents  seemed  to  me  too  few  for  the  num- 
bers of  men  who  were  at  the  camp-fires.  I  saw  forms  already 
stretched  out  on  their  blankets  in  the  open  air.  Doubtless 
many  men,  in  this  mild  weather,  preferred  to  sleep  outside  of 
the  crowded  tents. 

Hoping  that  something  would  be  said  to  give  me  what  I 
wanted  to  know,  I  sat  down. 

One  of  the  men  asked  me  for  a  chew  of  tobacco. 

"  Don't  chaw,"  said  I,  mentally  vowing  that  henceforth  I 
should  carry  some  tobacco. 

"  Why  don't  you  buy  your  own  tobacco  ?  "  asked  a  voice. 

The  petitioner  refused  to  reply. 

A  large  man  stood  up ;  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  knife  and 
a  square  of  tobacco ;  he  gravely  approached  the  first  speaker, 
cut  off  a  very  small  portion,  and  handed  it  to  him.  The  men 
looked  on  in  silence  at  this  act,  which,  seemingly,  was  nothing 
new  to  them.    One  of  them  winked  at  me.     I  inferred  that  the 


186  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

large  man  intended  a  rebuke  to  his  comrade  for  begging  from 
a  stranger.     The  large  man  went  back  and  sat  down. 

"  Say,  Doc,  how  long  are  we  goin'  to  be  here  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  could  tell  you,"  said  the  large  man. 

There  were  seven  men  m  the  group  around  the  fire;  the 
eyes  of  all  were  upon  the  large  man  called  Doc.  He  seemed 
a  man  of  character  and  influence,  though  but  a  private.  He 
turned  to  me. 

"  You  are  tired,"  he  said. 

I  merely  nodded  assent.  His  remark  surprised  and  discon- 
certed me,  so  that  I  could  not  find  my  voice.  In  a  moment 
my  courage  had  returned.  The  look  of  the  man  was  the 
opposite  of  suspicious  —  it  was  sympathetic.  He  was  not 
baldly  curious.  His  attitude  toward  me  might  shield  me  from 
the  curiosity  of  the  others,  if,  indeed,  they  were  feeling  inter- 
est of  any  sort  in  me.  I  had  been  fearing  that  some  one  would 
ask  me  my  regiment. 

"  I  want  to  go  home  to  my  mammy  ! "  screamed  a  voice  at 
the  next  fire. 

Nobody  gave  this  yell  the  least  notice.  I  supposed  it  a 
common  saying  with  homesick  soldiers. 

I  wondered  what  Doc  and  the  other  men  were  thinking  of 
me.  Perhaps  I  was  thought  a  friend  of  one  of  the  men  who 
had  brought  the  water ;  perhaps  nobody  thought  anything,  or 
cared  anything,  abou.t  me.  Although  I  felt  helpless,  I  would 
remain. 

A  torn  envelope  was  lying  on  the  ground,  within  a  few 
inches  of  my  hand.  The  addressed  side  was  next  the  ground. 
My  fears  fled;  accident  had  helped  me  —  had  given  me  a 
plan. 

I  turned  the  letter  over.     The  address  was :  — 

PRIVATE   D.   W.   ROBERTS, 

Co.  G,  7th  N.  C.  Reg't, 

Branch's  Brigade, 
Gordonsville,  Va. 


THE  LINES   OF  HANOVER  187 

I  rose.  "  I  must  be  going,"  said  I,  and  walked  off  down  the 
street.  The  act,  under  the  circumstances,  did  not  seem  to  me 
entirely  natural,  but  it  was  the  best  I  could  do ;  these  men,  I 
hoped,  would  merely  think  me  an  oddity. 

In  the  next  street  I  stopped  at  the  brightest  fire  that  I 
saw. 

"This  is  not  the  Seventh,  is  it  ?"  I  asked. 

"  No,"  said  one ;  "  the  Seventh  is  over  there,"  pointing. 

"  What  regiment  is  this  ?  " 

"  Our'n,"  said  he. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  giving  me  any  of  your  tomfoolery,"  said  I. 

"  This  is  the  Thirty -third,"  said  another. 

I  went  back  toward  the  Seventh,  passed  beyond  it,  and 
approached  another  group.  A  man  of  this  group  rose  and 
sauntered  away  toward  the  left.  I  followed  him.  I  put  my 
hand  on  his  shoulder  and  said,  "  Hello,  Jim  !  where  are  you 
going  ?  " 

He  turned  and  said,  "  Hello  yourself,  if  you  want  anybody 
to  hello ;  but  my  name's  not  Jim." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  I ;  "  afraid  I'm  in  the  wrong  pew ; 
what  regiment  is  this  ?  " 

"  The  Twenty-eighth,"  said  he,  and  went  on  without  another 
word. 

The  nature  of  the  replies  given  2ne  by  my  friends  of  the 
Thirty-third  and  Twenty-eighth  made  me  feel  nearly  certain 
that  all  of  Branch's  regiments  were  from  one  State.  I  was 
supposed  to  belong  to  the  brigade ;  it  was  needless  to  tell  me 
the  name  of  the  State  _  from  which  my  regiment  —  from  which 
all  the  regiments  —  came.  Had  the  brigade  been  a  mixed 
one,  the  men  would  have  said,  "  Thirty-third  North  Carolina ;  " 
"  Twenty-eighth  North  Carolina  "  ;  that  they  did  not  trouble 
themselves  with  giving  the  name  of  their  State  was  strong 
reason  for  believing  that  all  the  regiments,  as  I  knew  the 
Seventh  to  be,  were  from  North  Carolina. 

I  continued  my  walk,  picking  up  as  I  went  several  enve- 


188  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

lopes,  wliich  I  thrust  into  my  pocket.  It  must  now  have  been 
about  ten  o'clock.  The  men  had  become  silent ;  but  few  were 
sitting  at  the  fires.  I  believed  I  had  sufficient  information  as 
to  the  composition  of  the  brigade,  but  I  had  learned  little  as 
to  its  strength.  I  knew  that  there  were  five  streets  in  the 
encampment,  and  therefore  five  regiments  in  the  brigade. 
But  how  many  men  were  in  the  brigade  ? 

Behind  the  rear  regiment  was  a  small  cluster  of  wall-tents, 
which  I  took  for  brigade  headquarters.  At  the  head  of  every 
street  was  a  wall-tent,  which  I  supposed  was  the  colonel's. 
At  the  left  of  the  encampment  of  tents,  and  separated  from 
the  encampment  by  a  space  of  a  hundred  yards,  perhaps,  was 
a  line  of  brighter  fires  than  now  showed  in  the  streets.  The 
dying  out  of  the  fires  in  the  streets  was  what  called  my  atten- 
tion, by  contrast,  to  these  brighter  fires.  I  walked  toward  the 
bright  fires  ;  to  my  surprise  I  found  troops  in  bivouac.  I  went 
boldly  up  to  the  nearest  fire,  and  found  two  men  cooking.  I 
asked  for  a  drink  of  water. 

"  Sorry,  neighbour,  but  we  hain't  got  nary  nother  drop,"  said 
one. 

"  An'  we  don't  see  no  chance  to  git  any,"  said  the  other. 

"  Don't  you  know  where  the  spring  is  ?  "  I  asked. 

"No;  do  you?" 

*'  I  don't  know  exactly,"  said  I,  "  but  I  know  the  direction ; 
it's  down  that  way,"  pointing ;  "  I've  seen  men  coming  from 
that  way  with  canteens.    You  are  mighty  late  getting  supper." 

"  Jest  ben  relieved ;  we  tuck  the  places  of  some  men  this 
mornin',  an'  they  jest  now  got  back  an'  let  us  loose." 

"  What  duty  were  you  on  ?  " 

"  On  guyard  by  that  battery  way  over  yander ;  'twa'n't  our 
time,  but  we  went.  Say,  neighbour,  wish't  you'd  show  me  the 
way  to  that  water  o'  yourn.  Dam'f  I  knowed  the'  was  any 
water'n  less'n  a  mile." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  'way  back  there,"  said  I ;  "  but  I'll  tell 
you  how  to  find  it." 


THE   LIKES   OF   HANOVER  189 

''  Well,  tell  me  then,  an'  tell  me  quick.  I  reckin  if  I  can 
git  started  right,  I'll  find  lots  more  a-goin'." 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  I,  studying ;  "  you  go  over  yonder,  past 
General  Branch's  headquarters,  and  go  down  a  hill  through 
the  old  field,  and  —  let  me  see ;  what  regiment  is  this  ?  " 

"This  'n's  the  bloody  Forty-fifth  Georgy,"  said  he;  "we 
ain't  no  tar-heels :  it's  a  tar-heel  brigade  exceptin'  of  us,  but 
we  ain't  no  tar-heels  —  no  insult  intended  to  you,  neigh- 
bour." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  being  called  a  tar-heel,"  said  I;  "in 
fact,  I  rather  like  it." 

"  Well,  wher's  your  water  ?  " 

"  You  know  where  the  old  field  is  ?  " 

"No,  I  don't;  we've  jest  got  here  last  night,  I  don't  know 
anything." 

"  You  know  headquarters  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  just  go  on  down  the  hill,  and  you'll  find  a  path  in 
the  old  field." 

The  man  picked  up  two  canteens,  and  went  off.  I  remained 
with  his  messmate. 

"  What  battery  was  that  you  were  talking  about  ?  I  haven't 
seen  a  battery  with  the  brigade  in  a  week." 

"  Wher'  have  you  ben  that  you  hain't  seed  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Off  on  duty,"  said  I. 

"  No  wonder  you  hain't  seed  it,  then ;  an'  you  mought  ha' 
stayed  with  your  comp'ny  an'  not  ha'  seed  it  then;  you  hain't 
seed  it  becaze  it  ain't  for  to  be  saw.  They've  put  it  away  back 
yander." 

"  How  many  guns  ?  " 

"  Some  says  six  an'  some  says  four ;  I  didn't  see  'em, 
myself." 

"  I  don't  understand  why  you  didn't  see  the  guns,  if  you 
were  guarding  the  battery;  and  I  don't  see  why  the  battery 
couldn't  do  its  own  aruard  dutv." 


190  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

"  We  wa'n't  a-guyardin'  no  battery ;  we  was  a-guyardin'  a 
house  down  hy  the  battery." 

"  Oh,  I  see ;  protecting  some  citizen's  property." 

"  That's  so ;  pertectin'  property  an'  gittin'  hongry." 

"  That's  Captain  Brown's  battery,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"No,  sirree!  Hit's  Latham's  battery,  though  some  does 
call  it  Branch's  battery ;  but  I  don't  see  why.  Jest  as  well 
call  Hardeman's  regiment  Branch's,  too." 

"  Which  regiment  is  Hardeman's  ?  " 

"  Our'n ;  it's  with  Branch's  brigade  now,  but  it  ain't  Branch's 
regiment,  by  a  long  shot." 

"  I  hear  that  more  troops  are  expected  here,"  said  I,  at  a 
venture. 

"  Yes,  and  I  know  they're  a-comin' ;  some  of  'em  is  at  the 
Junction  now  —  comin'  from  Fredericksburg.  I  heerd  Cap'n 
Simmons  say  so  this  mornin'." 

"  We'll  have  a  big  crowd  then,"  said  I. 

"  What  regiment  is  your'n  ?  " 

"  'Eventh,"  said  I,  without  remorse  cancelling  the  difference 
between  the  Eleventh  Massachusetts  and  the  Seventh  North 
Carolina. 

The  man  moved  about  the  fire,  attending  to  his  cooking. 
The  talk  almost  ceased.  I  pulled  an  envelope  from  my 
pocket  and  began  tearing  it  into  little  bits,  which  I  threw  into 
the  fire  one  by  one,  pretending  mere  abstraction. 

The  envelope  had  borne  the  address :  — 

CAPTAIN  GEORGE  B.  JOHXSTON, 

Co.  G,  2Sth  N.  C.  Reg't, 
BrancK's  Brigade, 

Hanover  C.  H.,  Va. 

I  took  out  another  envelope.  It  was  addressed  to  Lieut. 
E.  G.  Morrow,  of  the  same  company  —  Company  G  of  the 
Twenty-eighth.    A  third  bore  the  address  :  — 


THE   LINES  OE  HANOVER  191 

CAPTAIN  S.  N.  STOWE, 

Co.  B,  7th  N.  C.  Reg't, 

Gordonsville,  Va. 

More  envelopes  went  into  the  fire.  They  bore  the  names  of 
privates,  corporals,  and  sergeants ;  some  were  of  the  Eigh- 
teenth, others  of  the  Thirty-seventh  North  Carolina  Volun- 
teers. One  envelope  had  no  address.  Another  gave  me  the 
name  of  Col.  James  H.  Lane,  but  no  regiment. 

"  Time  your  friend  was  getting  back,"  said  I. 

"  Seems  to  me  so,  too,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  reckin  he  found  a 
crowd  ahead  of  him." 

''  How  many  men  in  your  regiment  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Dunno;  there  was  more'n  a  thousand  at  first;  not  more'n 
seven  or  eight  hundred,  I  reckin ;  how  many  in  your'n  ?  " 

"  About  the  same/'  I  replied ;  <'  how  many  in  your  com- 
pany ?  " 

"  Eighty -two,"  he  said. 

The  other  man  returned  from  the  spring. 

"  Know  what  I  heerd  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No  ;  what  was  it  ?  "  inquired  his  companion. 

"I  heerd  down  thar  at  the  branch  that  the  Twelf  No'th 
Ca'lina  was  here  summers." 

"  Well,  maybe  it  is." 

"  I  got  it  mighty  straight." 

"  How  did  you  hear  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  A  man  told  me  that  one  of  Branch's  couriers  told  him  so ; 
he  had  jest  come  from  'em ;  said  they  is  camped  not  more'n 
two  mile  from  here." 

"  Only  the  Twelfth  ?     No  other  regiment  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Didn't  hear  of  no  other,"  he  replied. 

<'  I  wonder  what  we  are  here  for  ?  "  I  ventured  to  say. 

"  Plain  case,"  said  he ;  "  guyard  the  railroad." 

My  knowledge  of  the  situation  had  vastly  increased.  Here 
was  Branch's  command,  consisting  of  five  North  Carolina  regi- 
ments and  one  from  Georgia,  and  Latham's  battery ;  another 


192  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

regiment  was  supposed  to  be  near  by.  What  more  need  I 
know  ?  I  must  learn  the  strength  of  the  force ;  I  must  get 
corroboration.  The  man  with  whom  I  had  talked  might  be 
wrong  on  some  point.  I  considered  my  friend's  opinion  cor- 
rect concerning  Branch's  purpose.  The  Confederate  force  was 
put  here  to  protect  the  railroad.  From  the  envelopes  I  had 
learned  that  Branch's  brigade  had  recently  been  at  Gordons- 
ville ;  it  was  clear  that  it  had  left  Gordonsville  in  order  to 
place  itself  between  Anderson's  force  at  Fredericksburg  and 
Johnston's  army  at  Richmond,  and  thus  preserve  communica- 
tions. Branch  had  been  reenforced  by  the  Forty-fifth  Georgia 
on  the  preceding  day,  and  seemingly  on  this  day  by  the 
Twelfth  North  Carolina.  I  supposed  that  General  Morell 
could  easily  get  knowledge  from  army  headquarters  of  the 
last  positions  occupied  by  these  two  regiments,  and  I  did  not 
trouble  myself  to  ask  questions  on  this  point.  All  I  wanted 
now  was  corroboration  and  knowledge  of  numbers. 

The  men  had  eaten  their  supper.  I  left  them,  giving  but 
slight  formality  to  my  manner  of  departure.  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  to  seek  the  path  to  the  spring.  From  such  a  body, 
thirsty  men  would  be  going  for  water  all  night  long,  especially 
as  there  seemed  little  of  it  near  by.  By  getting  near  the 
spring  I  should  also  be  able,  perhaps,  to  determine  the  posi- 
tion of  the  wagons ;  I  had  decided  to  attempt  going  out  of 
these  lines  in  the  manner  of  my  entering  them,  if  I  could  but 
find  a  wagon  going  before  daylight. 

It  took  some  little  time  to  find  the  spring,  which  was  not 
a  spring  after  all,  but  merely  a  pool  in  a  small  brook.  I  hid 
myself  by  the  side  of  the  path  and  waited ;  soon  I  heard  the 
rattling  of  empty  canteens  and  the  footsteps  of  a  man ;  I 
started  to  meet  him. 

"  Say,  Mister,  do  you  know  whar  that  spring  is  ?  " 

"  I  know  where  the  water  is,"  said  I ;  "  it's  a  branch." 

"  Gosh  !  Branch's  brigade  ort  to  have  a  branch." 

"  You  must  have  come  in  a  hurry,"  said  I ;  "  you  are  blowing." 


THE   LINES   OF  HANOVER  193 

"  Blowin'  ?  Yes ;  blowed  if  I  didn't  come  in  a  hurry,  and 
blowed  if  I  did ;  you've  hit  it ! " 

"  What  regiment  do  you  belong  to  ?  " 

"Thirty-seventh." 

"  Is  that  Colonel  Lane's  ?  " 

"No;  Lane's  is  the  Twenty-eight.  Colonel  Lee  is  our 
colonel." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  got  Lee  and  Lane  mixed." 

"  What  regiment  is  your'n  ?  " 

"'Eventh." 

"  That's  Campbell's,"  said  he. 

"  You  know  the  brigade  mighty  well.  Here's  your  water," 
said  I,  sitting  do'mi  while  the  man  should  fill  his  canteens. 

"  Know  'em  all  except  these  new  ones,"  said  he. 

"  That's  the  Forty-fifth  Georgia,"  said  I ;  "  but  I  hear  that 
more  are  coming.  I  heard  that  the  Twelfth  North  Carolina  is 
near  by,  and  is  under  Branch." 

"  Yes ;  an'  it's  a  fact,"  said  he. 

"  Your  regiment  is  bigger  than  ours,  I  believe,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  I  dunno  about  that ;  how  many  men  in  your'n  ?  " 

"  About  seven  or  eight  hundred,  I  reckon." 

"  Not  much  difference,  then ;  but,  I  tell  you  what,  that  old 
Twenty-eighth  is  a  whopper  —  a  thousand  men." 

I  said  nothing;  I  could  hear  the  gurgling  of  the  water  as 
it  ran  down  the  neck  of  the  canteen.  The  man  chuckled, 
"  Branch's  brigade  ort  to  have  a  branch ;  blowed  if  it  ortn't." 
He  was  pleased  with  himself  for  discovering  something  like  a 
pun  or  two. 

For  two  reasons  it  was  policy  for  me  to  go  back,  or  start 
back,  with  this  man :  first,  I  wanted  him  to  talk  more ;  second, 
if  I  should  linger  at  the  water,  he  might  think  my  conduct 
strange. 

Going  up  the  hill,  he  asked  me  to  take  the  lead.  I  did  so, 
venturing  the  remark  that  these  two  new  regiments  made 
Branch's  brigade  a  very  big  one. 


194  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

"  Yes,"  said  lie ;  "  but  I  reckon  they  won't  stay  "with  us 
forever." 

"  Wonder  where  they  came  from,"  said  I. 

"  Too  hard  for  ??ie,"  he  replied ;  "  especially  the  Twelfth ; 
the  Eorty-fifth  was  at  Goldsborough,  but  not  in  our  brigade." 

We  reached  the  street  of  the  Seventh.  I  stepped  aside.  "  I 
stop  here,"  said  I. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I'm  much  obleeged  to  you  for  showin'  me 
that  branch  —  that  branch  that  belongs  to  Branch's  brigade," 
and  he  went  his  way. 

And  now  I  tried  to  take  some  rest.  I  thought  it  more 
prudent  to  stay  at  one  of  the  camp-fires,  fearing  that  if  I  con- 
cealed myself  I  should  be  stmnbled  upon  and  suspected,  so  I 
went  up  to  one  of  the  fires  of  the  Twenty-eighth,  wi-apped  my 
gum-blanket  aroimd  me  and  lay  do^\Ti.  But  I  found  it  impossi- 
ble to  sleep.  The  newness  of  the  experience  and  the  danger 
of  the  situation  drove  sleep  as  far  from  me  as  the  east  is  from 
the  west.  I  believe  that  in  romances  it  is  the  proper  thing 
to  say  that  a  man  in  trying  situations  sleeps  the  sleep  of  the 
infant ;  but  this  is  not  romance.     I  could  not  sleep. 

Some  time  before  day  a  man  lying  near  my  fire  stretched 
himself  and  sat  up.  I  watched  him  from  the  corner  of  my 
eye.  I  wanted  no  conversation  with  him;  I  was  afraid  he 
might  question  me  too  closely,  and  that  my  replies  would  not 
prove  satisfactory  to  him.  I  kept  quiet ;  I  knew  enough  — 
too  much  to  risk  losing. 

Suddenly  he  looked  toward  me.  I  was  afraid  that  he  had 
become  aware  of  a  foreign  element  thrown  into  his  environ- 
ment. My  fears  were  confirmed.  He  opened  his  mouth  and 
said,  "  Who  —  in  —  the  —  hell  —  that  —  is."  The  utterance  was 
an  assertion  rather  than  an  inquiry.  I  made  no  response.  He 
continued  to  look  at  me  —  shook  his  head  —  nodded  it  —  then 
fell  back  and  went  to  sleep. 

To  make  sure  that  he  was  fast,  I  waited  awhile  :  then  I  rose 
and  made  my  way  back  to  a  spot  near  the  wagon,  train,  far 


THE   LINES   OF   HANOVER  195 

in  the  rear.  It  must  have  been  after  three  o'clock.  The 
teamsters  had  finished  feeding  their  mules.  Soon  two  of  them 
began  to  hitch  up  their  teams ;  then,  with  much  shouting  and 
rattling  of  harness,  they  moved  off.  I  stole  along  beside  the 
second  wagon  for  some  distance,  and  had  almost  decided  to 
climb  into  it  from  behind  when  I  thought  tliat  possibly  some 
one  was  in  it.  There  seemed  little  danger  in  going  out  beliind 
the  wagons,  especially  as  there  was  no  light  of  day  as  yet, 
although  I  expected  that  the  cavalry  pickets  on  the  road  would 
be  looking  straight  at  me,  if  I  should  pass  them,  and  although, 
too,  I  fully  understood  that  these  wagons  would  be  escorted  by 
cavalry  when  on  any  dangerous  part  of  the  road  to  Richmond. 
But  my  plan  was  to  abandon  the  wagon  before  we  should  see 
any  cavalry. 

When  my  wagon  had  reached  the  thickest  of  the  woods,  and 
about  the  spot,  as  nearly  as  I  could  judge,  where  I  had  joined 
the  other  wagons  on  the  preceding  night,  I  quietly  slipped  into 
the  bushes  on  the  left  of  the  road. 

The  light  was  sufficient  for  me  to  distinguish  large  objects 
at  twenty  paces,  but  the  woods  were  dense,  and  I  knew  that 
caution  must  be  more  than  ever  my  guide;  now  that  I  had 
information  of  great  value,  it  would  not  do  to  risk  capture. 

Eor  some  time  I  crept  through  the  woods  on  my  hands  and 
knees,  intently  listening  for  the  least  sound  which  might  con- 
vince me  whether  I  was  on  the  right  track.  A  feverish  fear 
possessed  me  that  I  was  yet  in  rear  of  the  Confederate  pickets. 
The  east  was  now  clearly  defined,  so  that  my  course  was  easy 
to  choose — a  northeasterly  course,  which  I  knew  was  very 
nearly  the  exact  direction  to  the  spot  where  I  had  left 
Jones. 

At  every  yard  of  progress  my  fear  subsided  in  proportion ; 
every  yard  was  increasing  my  distance  from  Branch's  encamp- 
ment, and  rendering  probability  greater  in  my  favour;  I  surely 
must  be  already  in  front  of  any  possible  picket-line. 

The  light    increased,   and   the   woods   became   less   dense, 


196  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

After  going  a  hundred  yards,  I  ceased  to  crawl.  From  behind 
one  large  tree  I  examined  the  ground  ahead,  and  darted 
quickly  to  another.  Soon  I  saw  before  me  a  fallen  tree,  and 
wondered  if  it  might  not  conceal  some  vedette.  Yet,  if  it  did, 
the  sentinel  should  be  on  my  side  of  the  tree.  I  stood  for  a 
few  moments,-  intently  searching  it  with  my  eyes.  It  was  not 
more  than  fifteen  yards  from  me,  and  directly  in  my  course. 
At  last,  seeing  nothing,  I  sprang  quickly  and  was  just  about 
to  lie  down  behind  it,  when  a  man  rose  from  its  other  side. 
I  did  not  lie  down.  He  looked  at  me ;  I  looked  at  him.  He 
was  unarmed.  We  were  about  eight  feet  apart.  He  began  to 
recoil.  There  was  light  sufficient  to  enable  me  to  tell  from 
his  dress  that  he  was  a  rebel.  Of  course  he  would  think  me  a 
Confederate.     I  stepped  over  the  log. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  sir  ?  "  I  demanded,  in  a  stern 
voice  ;  "  why  are  you  not  with  your  regiment  ?  " 

He  said  nothing  to  this.  He  was  abashed.  His  eyes 
sought  the  ground. 

"  Why  don't  you  answer  me,  sir  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  replied  timidly,  "  I  am  not  doing  any  harm." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  being  here  at  all  ?  " 

"  I  got  lost  in  the  woods  last  night,"  he  said,  "  and  went  to 
sleep  here,  waiting  for  day." 

"  Then  get  back  to  your  company  at  once,"  said  I ;  "  what  is 
your  regiment  ?  " 

"  The  Seventh,"  he  replied. 

"  And  your  brigade  ?  " 

He  looked  up  wonderingly  at  this,  and  I  feared  that  I  had 
made  an  unnecessary  mistake  through  over-carefulness  in  try- 
ing to  secure  another  corroboration  of  what  I  already  knew 
well  enough.  I  thought  I  could  perceive  his  idea,  and  I 
added  in  an  instant :  "  Don't  you  know  that  troops  have  come 
up  in  the  night  ?     What  brigade  is  yours  ?  " 

"  Branch's,"  he  said. 

"  Then  you  will  find  youi'  camp  just  in  this  direction/'  said 


THE   LINES   OF   HANOVER  197 

I,  pointing  to  the  rear  and  left.  He  slunk  away,  seemingly 
well  pleased  to  be  quit  at  so  cheap  a  cost. 

Eearing  that  our  voices  had  been  heard  by  the  pickets,  I 
plunged  through  the  bushes  directly  toward  the  east,  and  ran 
for  a  minute  without  pausing.  Again  the  cold  sweat  was 
dropping  from  my  face  ;  again  I  had  felt  the  mysterious  men- 
tal agony  attendant  upon  a  too  violent  transition  of  personal- 
ity. Perhaps  it  was  this  peculiar  condition  which  pressed  me 
to  prolonged  and  unguarded  energy.  I  went  through  thicket 
and  brier  patch,  over  logs  and  gullies,  and  when  I  paused  I 
knew  not  where  I  was. 

After  some  reflection  I  judged  that  I  had  pursued  an  east- 
erly direction  so  far  that  Jones  was  now  not  to  the  northeast, 
but  more  to  the  north ;  I  changed  my  course  then,  bending 
toward  the  north,  and  before  sunrise  reached  the  creek  which, 
on  the  preceding  night,  I  had  crossed  after  leaving  Jones.  I 
did  not  know  whether  he  was  above  me  or  below,  so  I  crossed 
the  stream  at  the  place  where  I  struck  it,  and  went  straight 
away  from  it  through  the  swamp. 

After  going  a  long  distance  I  began  to  fear  that  I  was  miss- 
ing my  course,  and  I  did  not  know  which  way  to  turn.  I 
whistled  ;  there  was  no  response. 

No  opening  could  be  seen  in  any  direction  through  the 
swamp.  My  present  course  had  led  me  wrong ;  it  would  not 
do  at  all  to  go  on ;  I  should  get  farther  and  farther  away  from 
Jones.  If  I  should  assume  any  direction  as  the  right  one, 
I  should  be  likely  to  have  guessed  wrong.  I  spent  an  hour 
working  my  way  laboriously  through  the  swamp,  making 
wide  and  wider  sweeps  to  reach  some  opening  or  some  tree 
on  higher  ground.  At  last  I  saw  open  ground  on  my  left.  I 
went  rapidly  to  it,  and  found  a  field,  with  a  fence  separating 
it  from  the  woods,  —  the  fence  running  east  and  west,  —  and 
saw,  several  hundred  yards  toward  the  west,  the  corner  of 
the  field  at  which  I  had  stationed  Jones. 

At  once  I  began  to  go  rapidly  down  the  hill  toward  the 


198  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

place.  As  I  came  near,  I  saw  both  horses  prick  their  ears. 
Jones  was  sitting  on  the  ground,  with  his  gun  in  his  lap, 
alert  toward  the  west ;  I  was  in  his  rear.  Suddenly  he,  too, 
saw  the  movement  of  the  horses  ;  he  sprang  quickly  to  a  tree, 
from  behind  which  I  could  now  see  the  muzzle  of  his  gun  ten 
jiaces  off.  I  whistled.  The  gun  dropped,  and  Jones  ad- 
vanced, frightened. 

"  I  came  in  an  ace  of  it,"  he  said,  in  a  loud  whisper;  "  why 
didn't  you  signal  sooner  ?  " 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  did  not  think  of  it  in  time,  Jones ; 
I  am  glad  to  see  you  so  watchful." 

"  I  should  never  have  recognized  you  in  that  plight,"  said 
he  ;  *'  what  have  you  done  with  your  other  clothes  ?  " 

"  Had  to  throw  them  away." 

"  Well !  I  certainly  had  no  notion  of  seeing  you  come  back 
as  you  are  —  and  from  that  direction." 

This  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  myself  as  a  Confederate 
standing  with  a  Union  soldier.  In  the  night,  mixed  with  the 
rebels,  I  had  felt  no  visible  contrast  with  them.  Since  I  had 
left  the  wagon  I  had  had  no  time  for  thought  of  personal 
appearance.  Now  I  looked  at  myself.  My  hands  were 
scratched  with  briers  ;  my  hat  was  torn  ;  a  great  hole  was 
over  one  knee,  which  I  had  used  most  in  crawling.  I  was 
muddy  to  my  knees,  having  been  more  rapid  than  cautious  in 
crossing  the  creek.  For  more  than  twenty-four  hours  my 
mind  had  been  on  too  great  a  strain  to  think  of  the  body.  By 
the  side  of  me,  Jones  looked  like  a  glittering  general  question- 
ing an  uncouth  rebel  prisoner.     He  smiled,  but  I  did  not. 

"  Now  let  us  mount  and  ride,"  said  I ;  "we  can  eat  as  we  go. 
The  horses  have  had  an  all  night's  rest,  and  I  can  notify  you 
that  I  need  one,  but  it  won't  do  to  stay  here.  I  know  all  that 
we  need  to  know." 

^  ^  ^  -Jr  *  -ff  TT 

We  decided  that  we  should  return  to  Old  Church  by  the 
route  which  we  had  followed  in  coming.    As  we  rode,  I  described 


THE   LINES   OF  HANOVER  199 

to  Jones  the  position  and  force  of  the  enemy,  so  that,  if  I  should 
be  taken  and  he  left,  he  could  report  to  General  Morell.  We 
avoided  the  fields  and  roads,  and  stuck  to  the  woods,  keeping 
a  sharp  lookout  ahead,  but  going  rapidly.  At  the  first  water 
which  we  saw  I  took  time  to  give  my  head  a  good  souse. 

Near  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  we  came  out  upon  the  hills 
above  Crump's  Creek,  and  were  about  to  descend  when  we 
heard  a  noise  at  our  left,  seemingly  the  galloping  of  horses. 
We  dismounted,  and  I  crept  toward  the  road  until  I  could  see 
part  of  it  winding  over  the  hill.  About  twenty-five  or  thirty 
rebel  cavalry  —  to  be  exact,  thej^  numbered  just  twenty-seven, 
as  I  counted  —  were  on  the  road,  going  at  a  gallop  up  the  hill, 
and  ajDparently  excited  —  running  from  danger,  I  thought. 
They  disappeared  over  the  hill.  I  thought  it  quite  likely  that 
some  of  our  cavalry  were  advancing  on  the  road,  and  that  it 
would  be  well  for  me  to  wait  where  I  was ;  if  I  should  go  back 
and  call  Jones  to  come,  our  men  might  pass  while  I  was 
gone. 

In  a  short  time  I  saw  in  the  road,  going  westward  at  a  slow 
walk,  another  body  of  cavalry.  These  men,  to  my  astonish- 
ment, were  armed  with  lances.  My  surprise  gave  way  to 
pleasure,  for  I  remembered  much  talk  in  the  army  concerning 
a  Pennsylvania  regiment  of  lancers. 

As  I  could  see,  also,  that  the  men  were  in  Federal  uniform, 
I  boldly  left  my  place  of  concealment  and  wa.lked  out  into  the 
road.  The  cavalry  halted.  The  captain,  or  officer  in  com- 
mand, whom  I  shall  here  call  Captain  Lewis,  although  that 
was  not  his  name,  rode  out  a  little  to  the  front  of  his  men,  and 
said,  "  So  you  have  given  it  up  ?  " 

"No,  sir,"  said  I;  "to  the  contrary,  I  have  made  a  success 
of  it." 

"  Well,  we  shall  see  about  that,"  he  exclaimed ;  "  here !  get 
up  behind  one  of  my  men.     We  want  you." 

For  me  to  go  with  the  cavalry  and  show  them  the  plain  road 
before  their  eyes,  was  ridiculous.     As  I  hesitated,  the  captain 


200  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

cried  out,  "  Here,  Sergeant,  take  two  men  and  carry  this  man 
to  the  rear  !  " 

"  Captain,  please  don't  be  so  fast,"  said  I ;  "  one  of  my  com- 
rades is  near  by  with  our  horses  —  "  I  was  going  to  say  more, 
but  he  interrupted  me,  crying,  *'  We  intend  to  pay  our  respects 
to  all  your  comrades.     No  more  from  you,  sir !  " 

As  I  showed  no  willingness  to  mount  behind  a  man,  the 
sergeant  and  detail  marched  me  down  the  road.  I  endeav- 
oured to  talk  to  the  sergeant,  but  he  refused  to  hear  me. 

This  affair  had  puzzled  me,  and  it  continued  to  puzzle  me 
for  a  short  while,  but  I  soon  saw  what  it  meant,  and  saw  why 
I  had  not  understood  from  the  first.  My  mind  had  been  so 
fixed  upon  my  direct  duty  that  I  had  not  once  thought  of  my 
pretended  character.  Eor  his  part,  the  captain  had  supposed 
that  I  was  a  Confederate  deserter  coming  into  the  Union  lines. 
This  was  now  simple  enough,  but  why,  under  such  circimi- 
stances,  he  had  not  questioned  me  in  regard  to  what  was  in  his 
front,  I  could  not  at  all  understand.  I  tried  again  to  speak, 
but  was  commanded  to  be  silent. 

This  was  a  ludicrous  experience,  though  unpleasant.  My 
only  serious  consideration  was  in  regard  to  Jones.  I  feared 
that  he  would  wait  for  me  indefinitely,  and  would  be  captured. 
Although  such  a  result  could  bring  no  blame  to  me,  yet  I  was 
very  anxious  about  him.  Concerning  myself,  I  knew  that  I 
could  suffer  restraint  but  a  very  short  time ;  just  so  soon  as  I 
could  get  speech  with  any  ofl&cer  willing  to  listen,  I  should  be 
set  right. 

The  sergeant  and  his  two  men  marched  me  back  nearly  to 
Hawes's  shop,  some  two  miles  beyond  Crump's  Creek,  where  I 
was  brought  before  Colonel  Tyler,  who  was  in  command  of  two 
or  three  infantry  regiments  which  had  advanced  from  Old 
Church  on  that  morning. 

Colonel  Tyler  was  the  centre  of  a  group  of  officers ;  the  regi- 
ments were  under  arms.  The  sergeant  in  charge  of  me  reported 
that  I  was  a  Confederate  deserter,  whom  the  Pennsylvania  cav- 


THE  LINES  OF  HANOVER  201 

airy  had  found  in  the  woods  beyond  Crump's  Creek.  Colonel 
Tyler  nodded,  and  began  to  question  me. 

"  When  did  you  leave  your  regiment  ?  " 

"  On  the  22d,  Colonel,"  I  replied. 

"  That  is  a  long  time  to  lie  out  in  the  woods,"  said  he ;  "  now 
be  sure  that  your  memory  is  right.  What  day  of  the  month 
is  this  ?  " 

"  The  24th,  I  think,  sir." 

"  And  it  has  taken  you  two  days  to  come  a  few  miles  ?  " 

"From  what  place,  Colonel?" 

"  Why,  from  Hanover." 

"  No,  sir ;  it  has  taken  me  but  a  few  hours." 

"  What  is  your  regiment  ?  " 

"  The  Eleventh  Massachusetts,  Colonel." 

The  colonel  smiled.  Then  he  looked  angry.  Then  he  com- 
posed his  countenance. 

"Have  you  any  idea  what  is  the  matter  with  this  man, 
Sergeant  ?  " 

The  sergeant  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  know  anything  about 
it.  Colonel.  I  only  know  that  we  took  the  man  as  I  have  said. 
He  tried  to  talk  to  Captain  Lewis,  but  the  captain  thought  it 
best  to  send  him  back  at  once." 

"  You  insist  on  belonging  to  the  —  what  regiment  did  you 
say  ?  " 

"  The  Eleventh  Massachusetts,  sir,"  said  I,  unable  to  restrain 
a  smile. 

"  Then  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  I  was  brought  here  much  against  my  will.  Colonel." 

"  But  what  were  you  doing  when  you  were  captured  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  been  captured,  Colonel ;  when  I  came  to  meet 
the  lancers,  I  was  returning  from  a  scout." 

"  What  brigade  do  you  belong  to  ?  " 

"  General  Grover's." 

"  What  division  ?  " 

"  General  Hooker's." 


202  WHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

"  Where  is  your  regiment  now  ?  " 

"Near  Bottom's  Bridge,  Colonel,"  I  said;  then  added,  "it 
was  there  on  the  21st ;  where  it  is  now  I  cannot  say." 

The  colonel  saw  that  I  was  a  very  remarkable  Confederate 
deserter ;  he  was  beginning  to  believe  my  story ;  his  tone 
altered. 

"  But  why  are  you  in  Confederate  uniform  ?  " 

"  Colonel,"  said  I,  "  I  have  been  sent  out  by  order,  and  I 
was  just  returning  when  our  cavalry  met  me.  I  tried  to 
explain,  but  they  would  not  listen  to  me.  The  officer  threat- 
ened me  and  would  ilot  let  me  speak." 

The  colonel  looked  puzzled.  "  Have  you  anything  to  prove 
that  you  are  a  Union  soldier  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  I,  "  not  a  thing.  It  would  be  dangerous  for 
me  to  carry  anything  of  that  kind,  sir.  All  I  ask  is  to  be  sent 
to  General  Morell." 

"  Where  is  General  Morell  ?  " 

"  On  the  reserve  line  near  New  Bridge." 

"  Why  send  you  to  General  Morell  ?  " 

"  Because  I  must  make  my  report  to  him." 

"  Did  he  send  you  out  ?  " 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"  How  is  it  that  you  are  attached  to  General  Grover  and  also 
to  General  Morell?" 

"  Well,  Colonel,  that  is  something  I  do  not  like  to  talk 
about,  but  it  is  perfectly  straight.  If  you  will  send  me  under 
guard  to  General  Morell,  the  whole  matter  will  be  cleared  up 
to  your  satisfaction.  I  beg  you  to  do  so  at  once.  I  know  that 
General  Morell  will  consider  my  report  important,  and  will  be 
disappointed  if  it  should  be  delayed,  sir." 

"  Not  yet,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  will  send  him  a  description  of 
your  person.  I  shall  want  you  here  in  case  General  Morell 
does  not  claim  you  and  justify  your  claims." 

"  But  if  General  Morell  does  not  justify  me,  I  am  a  rebel, 
and  what  would  you  do  with  me  ?  " 


THE   LINES   OF  HANOVER  203 

"  If  you  are  a  rebel,  you  are  a  deserter  or  a  spy,  and  you  say 
you  are  not  a  deserter ;  if  you  are  either,  General  Morell  does 
not  need  you." 

"Colonel,"  said  I,  "would  not  a  rebel  spy  be  an  idiot  to 
come  voluntarily  into  the  Union  lines  dressed  as  I  am 
dressed  ?  " 

"  One  cannot  be  too  careful,"  said  he.  "  You  claim  to  be  a 
Union  man,  but  you  callnot  prove  it." 

"  Then,  Colonel,  since  you  refuse  to  send  me  back  to  General 
Morell,  I  beg  that  you  at  once  send  back  for  my  companioru" 

"  What  companion  ?  " 

"  His  name  is  Jones.  He  was  chosen  by  General  Morell  to 
accompany  me.  He  is  near  the  spot  where  I  met  the  lancers. 
He  has  both  of  our  horses,  and  I  fear  he  will  wait  too  long  for 
me,  and  be  captured." 

"  By  the  lancers  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  by  the  rebels.    He  has  on  his  own  Federal  uniform." 

"  But  why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  before  ?  " 

"  Because  I  wanted  you  first  to  consent  to  send  me  to  Gen- 
eral jMorell ;  you  refuse,  and  I  now  tell  you  about  Jones.  He 
can  justify  me  to  you ;  but  time  is  lost  in  getting  to  General 
Morell,  sir." 

Colonel  Tyler  wrote  something  and  handed  it  to  the  ser- 
geant, who  at  once  went  off,  accompanied   by  his  two  men. 

"What  force  of  the  enemy  is  in  our  front?"  asked  the 
colonel. 

"  My  report  is  to  be  made  to  General  Morell,  Colonel." 

"  But  if  I  order  you  to  report  to  me  ?  " 

"  Do  you  recognize  me  as  a  Union  soldier.  Colonel  ?  " 

"  What  has  that  got  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  You  would  hardly  have  the  right  to  command  a  rebel  spy 
to  betray  his  cause,"  said  I. 

"  But  you  may  be  a  rebel  deserter,"  said  he,  smiling. 

"  If  I  were  a  rebel  deserter,  why  should  I  not  claim  to  be 
one,  after  having  reached  safety  ?  " 


204  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

"  But  you  may  have  intended  to  go  home,  or  you  may  have 
been  lost,  and  if  so  you  are  properly  a  prisoner  of  war." 

"  How  should  a  lost  rebel  know  what  I  know  about  the  com- 
position of  the  Union  army  ?  " 

"  I  know  your  case  seems  pretty  strong ;  but  why  not  give 
me  the  benefit  of  your  knowledge  ?  Some  of  my  men  are  now 
almost  in  the  presence  of  the  enemy." 

"  General  Morell  advised  me  to  report  only  to  him,  unless 
our  advanced  troops  should  be  in  any  danger." 

"  Then  I  tell  you  that  we  are  in  danger.  We  contemplate 
attacking  a  small  force,  but  we  don't  want  to  run  our  heads 
into  a  hornet's  nest." 

"  Well,  Colonel,  since  you  put  it  so,  I  will  answer  you." 

"  What  force  is  in  our  front  ?  " 

"  There  are  six  or  seven  regiments  of  infantry  and  a  battery. 
There  are  cavalry,  also ;  several  hundred,  I  presume." 

"  And  where  are  they  ?  " 

"  The  cavalry  ?  " 

"  The  whole  force  of  which  you  speak." 

"  They  were  at  Hanover  Court-House  all  last  night,  and  until 
day  this  morning.  I  cannot  say  that  they  have  not  moved 
since." 

"  Do  you  know  who  commands  them  ?  '* 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Who  is  it  ?  " 

"  General  Branch." 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  How  then  do  you  know  that  he  is  in  command  ?  " 

"  I  see  that  I  misunderstood  youi'  question.  Colonel.  I  do  not 
know  that  General  Branch  is  present  with  his  brigade,  but  I  do 
know  that  the  troops  at  Hanover  compose  Branch's  brigade." 

"  How  did  you  learn  it  ?     A  man  told  you  ?  " 

"  Three  different  men,  of  different  regiments,  told  me." 

"  Well,  that  ought  to  be  accepted,"  said  he. 


THE   LINES   OF   HANOVER  205 

I  was  allowed  to  remain  at  my  ease  near  the  circle  of  officers. 
It  was  easy  to  see  that  Colonel  Tyler  was  almost  convinced 
that  I  was  telling  the  truth. 

In  about  an  hour  the  sergeant  returned  without  the  two  men, 
and  accompanied  by  Jones,  who  was  leading  my  horse,  and 
who  at  once  handed  the  colonel  a  paper.  I  was  immediately 
released,  and  in  little  more  than  two  hours  reached  the  camp 
of  General  Morell,  and  made  my  report. 

General  Morell  expressed  gratification  at  my  quick  return 
with  valuable  results.  He  told  me  that  General  Hooker's 
command  had  not  moved,  and  that  he  would  gladly  send  a 
statement  of  my  work  to  General  Grover,  and  would  say  that 
I  would  be  foimd  with  Dr.  Khayme  until  actually  ordered 
back  to  the  left.  He  then  told  me  to  go  back  to  my  quarters 
and  rest ;  that  I  must  get  all  the  rest  I  could,  and  as  quickly 
as  possible. 

Although  the  day  was  quite  warm,  I  put  my  gum-blanket 
over  me,  to  shield  my  gray  clothes  from  the  gaze  of  the  curi- 
ous. I  was  soon  at  Dr.  Khayme' s  tent.  Without  thinking,  I 
entered  at  once,  throwing  off  the  hot  blanket.  Lydia  sprang 
up  from  a  camp-stool,  and  raised  her  hands ;  in  an  instant  she 
sat  again,  trembling.     She  was  very  white. 

"I  did  not  know  you,"  she  said;  "yet  I  ought  to  have 
known  you :  Father  prepared  me ;  but  we  did  not  expect  you 
before  to-morrow,  at  the  earliest."     She  was  still  all  a-tremble. 

"I  am  sorry  that  I  startled  you  so;  but  I  was  so  eager  to 
hide  from  all  eyes  that  I  did  not  think  of  anything  else. 
Where  is  the  Doctor  ?  " 

"He  had  a  case  to  attend  to  somewhere  —  I  don't  know 
where  it  is ;  he  said  he  should  be  back  to  supper." 

Lydia  was  getting  ready  to  leave  the  tent.  "  I  suppose  you 
have  had  hard  work,"  said  she,  "  and  I  shall  leave  you,  yet  I 
so  wish  to  know  what  success  you  have  had." 


206  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

"  Then  stay,  and  I  will  tell  you  about  it,"  said  I. 

"  Only  tell  me  whether  you  succeeded,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  I  succeeded.  I  went  into  the  rebel  camp  and  re- 
mained all  night  with  a  brigade  of  them.  I  know  all  that  I 
was  sent  to  learn." 

"  Oh,  Father  will  be  so  glad ! "  she  said;  "  now  I  will  let  you 
rest  till  he  comes,  although  I  should  like  to  hear  all  about  it." 

"But  you  will  not  hinder  me  by  remaining,"  I  exclaimed; 
"  to  be  plain  with  you,  I  had  to  throw  away  my  uniform,  and 
you  see  me  with  all  the  clothes  I've  got." 

She  laughed;  then,  hanging  her  head  a  little,  she  said, ''  You 
need  rest,  though,  and  I'll  see  if  I  cannot  help  you  while  you 
get  some  sleep." 

When  she  had  gone  I  lay  down  and  closed  my  eyes,  but 
sleep  would  not  come.  After  a  time  I  heard  voices,  and  then 
I  saw  a  black  hand  open  the  tent  door  and  lay  a  package  on 
the  ground.  I  got  up,  and  saw  my  name  on  the  package,  which 
proved  to  contain  a  new  uniform.  I  dressed  and  went  out. 
The  Doctor's  negro  servant  was  cooking  supper.  I  asked  him 
who  gave  him  the  package  he  had  put  into  the  tent.  He  said, 
"  Miss  Liddy  she  done  sont  me  wid  a  note  to  de  ginnle  en'  de 
ginnle  he  gimme  anudda'  note  en'  dat  man  he  gimme  de 
bunnle." 

The  Doctor  came  while  the  table  was  being  spread.  I  gave 
a  detailed  account  of  my  work,  his  little  eyes  twinkling  with 
interest  as  I  talked,  and  Lydia  saying  not  a  word. 

When  I  had  ended,  I  said,  "  And  I  have  to  thank  Miss  Lydia 
for  her  interest  in  a  ragged  rebel;  she  had  the  forethought, 
while  I  was  trying  to  sleep,  to  make  a  requisition  in  my  be- 
half; see  my  new  uniform.  Doctor?  " 

"  I'll  give  her  a  kiss  for  showing  her  good  sense,"  said  her 
father. 

Lydia  smiled.  "  You  looked  so  forlorn —  or  so  tattered  and 
torn — that  I  pitied  you ;  I  wrote  a  note  to  General  Morell,  not 
knowing  what  else  to  do." 


THE  LINES   OF  HANOVER  207 

"Did  he  reply?"  I  asked,  thinking  wildly,  at  the  time,  of 
the  conclusion  of  the  celebrated  romance  called  "The  House 
that  Jack  Built." 

"Yes,"  said  she;  "you  may  keep  the  uniform,  and  I'll  keep 
the  note.  I  am  thinking  that  I'll  become  a  collector  of  auto- 
graphs." 

"Why  didn't  you  let  that  Confederate,  whom  you  found 
behind  the  log,  come  with  you  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor ;  "  do  you 
not  think  that  he  was  trying  to  desert  ?  " 

"  I  thought  so,  Doctor,"  said  I ;  "  but  I  feared  to  be  encum- 
bered with  him.     Speed  was  what  I  wanted  just  then." 

"  I  suppose  you  were  right,"  said  he;  "  if  he  wants  to  come, 
he  can  come." 

"  I  don't  think  such  a  man  should  have  been  trusted  at  all," 
said  Lydia;  "if  he  would  betray  his  own  people,  why  should 
he  not  betray  us  ?  " 

"Let  us  not  condemn  him  unjustly;  possibly  he  was  telling 
the  simple  truth,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  I,  "  I  should  have  caught  a  Tartar  if  I 
had  accepted  his  company." 

" One  more  thing,"  said  the  Doctor;  "in  talking  to  Captain 
Lewis,"  —  the  Doctor  did  not  say  Lewis,  but  called  the  officer 
by  his  name,  —  "  in  talking  to  Captain  Blank,  why  did  you  not 
raise  your  voice  loud  enough  for  Jones  to  hear  you?  That 
would  have  relieved  you  at  once." 

"  That  is  true,  Doctor ;  but  I  did  not  understand  the  situar 
tion  at  all.  Yes,  if  I  had  known  what  he  was  driving  at,  a  call 
to  Jones  would  have  settled  matters." 

"  I  doubt  it,"  said  Lydia ;  "  the  captain  might  have  thought 
you  were  Roderick  Dhu." 

"  That  man  must  be  somewhat  idiotic,"  said  the  Doctor;  "  in 
fact,  all  those  lancers  are  what  we  mildly  term  unfortunates. 
I  suspect  that  the  captain  had  begun  to  realize  the  impotency 
of  his  command  in  front  of  Enfield  rifles.  I  fancy  that  he  was 
frightened,  and  that  he  blustered  to  hide  his  scare." 


208  WHO   GOES  THEKE  ? 

It  was  getting  late.  Lydia  retired  to  her  own  apartment. 
The  Doctor  had  smoked  and  smoked;  his  pipe  had  gone  out, 
and  he  did  not  fill  it  again.  He  rose.  "You  can  get  sleep 
now,  my  boy;  you  have  done  a  good  day's  work,  or  rather 
a  good  night's  work  sandwiched  between  two  days.  General 
Morell  ought  to  reward  you." 

"  I  do  not  want  any  reward,"  said  I. 

"  You  would  not  like  a  commission?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know  what  good  it  would  do  me,"  said  I. 

"It  would  do  you  no  harm,"  he  said;  "it  would  be  an  ad- 
vantage to  you  in  many  ways.  You  would  fare  better;  your 
service  might  not  be  really  lighter,  but  you  would  command 
more  respect  from  others.  That  captain  of  the  lancers  will 
not  think  of  apologizing  to  you ;  but  if  he  knew  you  as  Lieu- 
tenant Berwick,  he  would  be  quick  to  write  you  a  note.  If 
promotion  is  offered  you,  —  and  it  ought  to  be  offered,  —  you 
ought  not  to  refuse  it." 

"Doctor,"  said  I,  "I  am  not  ambitious  —  at  least,  in  that 
way," 


XVIII 

THE   BATTLE   OF    HANOVER 

"  The  enemy's  in  view,  draw  up  your  powers. 
Here  is  the  guess  of  their  true  strength  and  forces 
By  diligent  discovery  ;  but  your  haste 
Is  now  urged  on  you."  —  Shakespeare. 

Ok  tlie  night  of  the  25th  I  was  again  sent  for  by  General 
Morell. 

"  Berwick,"  said  he,  "  I  trust  you  are  able  to  do  some  more 
hard  work.     Have  you  had  a  good  rest  ?  " 

I  was  unwilling  to  say  that  I  had  not ;  yet  the  fact  was  that 
I  had  suffered  greatly,  and  had  not  regained  condition. 

"  One  good  turn  deserves  another,"  said  he,  laughing ;  "  so 
you  must  help  me  out  again ;  but  don't  doubt  for  a  moment 
that  your  turn  will  come,  too,  some  day." 

"  Well,  General,"  said  I,  "  what's  in  the  wind  this  time  ?  " 

"  Sit  here,"  said  he,  "  while  I  get  the  map.  Your  report  has 
been  fully  corroborated.  General  Branch's  brigade  or  division, 
of  some  six  to  ten  regiments  and  a  battery,  is  at  Hanover 
Court-House,  or  was  there  last  night,  and  is  supposed  to  be 
there  now.  A  division  of  this  army  will  march  against  Branch. 
Now  I  will  show  you  what  you  must  do  for  us.  Here," 
pointing  on  the  map  to  a  road  running  south  along  the  rail- 
road from  Hanover  Court-House,  "  here  you  see  the  road  you 
were  on  with  the  wagons.  At  this  point  —  a  mile  and  a  half 
or  two  miles  southeast  of  Hanover  —  is  the  road  running  down 
the  river  —  the  road  you  followed  after  crossing  Crump's  Creek. 
The  force  which  will  march  against  Branch  will  be  sufficient 
to  crush  him,  and  we  must  prevent  him  from  escaping  in  the 
p  209 


210  WHO   GOES  THEEE? 

direction  of  Eichmond.  Therefore,  our  attack  is  arranged  to 
fall  on  his  right.  Kow  don't  make  a  mistake  and  be  thinking 
of  our  right  —  his  right  —  here.  If  we  can  get  around  his  right, 
we  can  drive  him  into  the  Pamunkey  River.  If  we  should 
attack  on  his  left,  we  should  simply  drive  him  toward  Rich- 
mond." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  see,"  said  I. 

"  Now,  it  is  quite  possible  that  he  has  taken  a  new  position 
and  nearer  Richmond.  It  is  even  possible  that  he  has  advanced 
a  considerable  distance  nearer  Richmond ;  but  it  is  not  likely, 
as  he  has  been  put  where  he  is  for  the  purpose  of  observing 
our  right  and  rear  until  he  is  reenforced.  On  the  23d,  we 
occupied  Mechanicsville,  and  our  possession  of  that  place  may 
have  so  interfered  with  or  so  threatened  Branch's  plans  that 
he  will  make  some  movement.  The  trutli  is,  to  be  frank  with 
you,  he  is  in  a  false  position,  and  ought  to  return  to  Hanover 
Junction  at  once  and  unite  there  with  Anderson's  force,  which 
has  begun  its  march  from  Fredericksburg  to  Richmond,  or 
else  he  ought  to  join  Johnston's  army  without  delay.  I  am 
telling  you  these  things  because  I  want  you  to  understand  the 
situation  thoroughly,  in  order  to  help  you,  and  because  I  think 
I  can  trust  you." 

«  Well,  General  ?  " 

"  Knowing  our  plans,  you  will  be  better  able  to  decide  what 
to  do  in  a  critical  moment." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Now,  what  we  want  to  know  is  the  true  point  upon  which 
our  attack  should  be  directed.  If  we  march  straight  on  Han- 
over Court-House,  and  find  that  the  rebels  have  left  that  place 
and  have  moved  further  south,  we  shall  be  attacking  their  left 
instead  of  their  right,  and  they  can  retreat  toward  Richmond. 
In  case  they  have  moved  south,  we  must  not  march  on  the 
Court-House  ;  we  must  attack  their  right,  wherever  that  may 
be.  Now,  that  is  what  you  must  do  for  us :  find  out  where 
Branch's  right  flank  rests  before  we  make  the  attack." 


THE  BATTLE  OF  HANOVER       211 

''  Then  I  must  precede  your  maxch  by  no  great  distance." 

"  Exactly." 

"  When  do  you  march,  General  ?  " 

"  We  march  on  the  27th,  day  after  to-morrow,  at  daylight. 
You  will  have  to-night  and  to-morrow  and  until  the  middle  of 
the  next  day." 

"  I  can  see  one  thing.  General." 

«  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  When  I  find  the  enemy's  right,  I  must  hang  to  it  for  fear 
of  its  moving  after  I  report." 

"  Very  well ;  hang  to  it." 

"  And  I  must  have  help,  so  that  I  can  send  reports  to  you 
while  I  do  hang  to  it." 

"  As  much  help  as  you  want." 

"  Have  you  another  man  as  good  as  Jones  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  better  man  than  Jones ;  you  want  only  two  ?  " 

"  I  think  Jones  and  another  will  do,  if  the  other  man  can 
be  thoroughly  depended  upon." 

"  You  can  have  as  many  men  as  you  want,  as  many  horses 
as  you  want,  and  anything  else  that  you  want  —  speak  out." 

"  Why  don't  you  have  a  company  of  cavalry  to  do  this  work 
for  you,  General  ?  " 

"  A  company  of  cavalry !  They  wouldn't  get  within  a  mile 
of  Branch ! " 

"  Simply  because  they  would  be  too  many,"  said  I ;  "  all  I 
want  is  Jones  and  another  man  as  good  as  Jones ;  if  no  such 
man  can  be  found,  I  want  only  Jones." 

"  What  would  be  your  plans  ?  " 

"  I  should  report  by  the  third  man  the  first  information  of 
importance;  then  report  by  Jones  when  we  find  Branch's 
right;  hang  to  it  myself,  and  report  if  it  moves.  You  will 
need  to  know  where  Branch's  right  is  at  the  moment  when  you 
are  ready  to  strike  —  not  where  it  was  an  hour  before." 

''Bight,"  said  he;  "you  shall  have  Jones  the  second  if  he 
can  be  found." 


212  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

"  We  must  not  risk  a  common  man,  General ;  better  do  with- 
out such  a  man.  He  might  get  himself  caught  and  endanger 
your  whole  plan." 

"  I  think  we  can  find  a  good  man.  Now,  before  we  leave 
this,  I  must  tell  you  that  Colonel  Warren's  brigade  will  join 
in  the  movement.  Warren  is  now  at  Old  Church;  he  will 
march  by  the  road  that  you  were  on  yesterday,  while  we  march 
upon  roads  at  his  left.     You  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  General." 

"  Then  that  is  all." 

"  May  I  say  a  word,  General  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  certainly." 

''  I  trust  Colonel  Warren's  movement  will  be  delayed.  He 
has  a  shorter  distance  to  make.  If  the  rebels  get  wind  of  his 
movement  before  they  know  of  youi's,  they  will  almost  be  sure 
to  change  position." 

"That  has  been  thought  of,"  said  he;  "and  Warren  is  in- 
structed not  to  attack  until  everything  is  ready.  However,  I 
shall  speak  to  General  Porter  again  about  this." 

"  Can  I  see  Jones,  General  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  can  send  him  to  you.     When  do  you  start  ?  ". 

"  To-morrow  morning,  sir." 

"  At  what  hour  ?  " 

"  After  breakfast." 

"  Can  you  think  of  nothing  else  you  need  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  have  a  good  field-glass.  General." 

"  Nothing  else  ?  " 

" Some  tobacco  —  chewing  tobacco;  I  should  not  trouble  you 
about  that,  but  I  know  that  Dr.  Khayme  has  none." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  the  tobacco  ? "'  he  asked,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  A  man  asked  me  for  some,  night  before  last,"  said  I,  "  and 
I  could  not  help  him." 

"  And  you  want  to  find  him  and  give  it  to  him  ?  "  he  asked, 
yet  laughing. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   HANOVER  213 

"  Oh,  no,  sir ;  but  I  thought  I  might  find  another  occasion 
for  it." 

"  Well,  111  send  it  through  Jones." 

"  Let  it  be  common  plug  tobacco,  if  you  please." 

''  Just  as  you  wish.  Now,  here  is  your  glass.  It  is  one  of 
my  own,  or  rather  it  was  mine ;  it  is  yours  hereafter." 

"  Thank  you.  General ;  I  think  it  will  be  of  great  use.  Is 
there  anything  about  it  to  betray  me  ?  " 

"  No ;  it  is  English,  and  has  no  private  mark.  You  are  sure 
you  have  thought  of  everything  ?  " 

"I  think  so.  General;  if  anything  important  occurs  to  my 
mind  before  we  start,  I'll  let  you  know." 

"  Be  sure  to  do  it." 

Jones  came  about  eight  o'clock.  He  told  me  that  he  and  a 
man  named  Frank  were  ordered  to  go  with  me.  Frank,  as  well 
as  Jones,  I  learned,  was  chosen  from  the  escort  of  General 
Porter.  I  told  Jones  what  we  should  need,  and  he  promised 
to  be  ready. 

In  Dr.  Khayme's  tent  there  was  not  much  talk  that  night. 
Lydia  sat  silent  and  seemingly  depressed.  The  Doctor  said 
that  our  left  wing  had  crossed  the  Chickahominy.  Nobody 
responded.  Then  he  tried  to  start  an  argument  about  the  loss 
of  spiritual  power  caused  by  war,  but  meeting  no  encourage- 
ment from  me,  gave  it  up.  The  truth  is  that  I  needed  rest 
and  sleep.  When  the  Doctor  had  had  his  first  smoke,  Lydia 
rose  and  took  his  pipe  from  him.  "We  must  tell  Mr.  Ber- 
wick good  night.  Father.     He  has  work  to  do  to-morrow." 

The  Doctor  laughed ;  but  he  rose  at  once,  protesting  that 
Lydia  was  right.     Lydia  did  not  laugh. 

Sleep  came  to  me  soon,  and  the  next  morning  I  felt  greatly 
refreshed.  While  at  breakfast,  which  the  Doctor  alone  joined 
in  with  me,  Jones  and  Frank  rode  up.  I  hastened  to  end  the 
meal,  and  we  soon  were  off. 

******* 

I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  if  possible  we  should  strike 


214  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

across  the  Virginia  Central,  some  miles  south  of  Hanover 
Court-House,  and  work  our  Avay  toward  the  Confederate  right 
and  rear. 

We  crossed  the  Totopotomoy  Creek  near  Pole  Green  Church, 
far  above  the  place  where  Jones  and  I  had  crossed  it  on  the 
23d,  and  then  took  to  the  woods  up  the  creek  swamp,  the  head 
of  which,  I  had  ascertained  from  the  map,  was  at  the  west  of 
the  railroad.  We  were  now  on  neutral  ground.  The  usual 
order  of  our  advance  was  Jones  in  the  lead,  I  following  him 
at  not  more  than  forty  yards,  and  Frank  coming  behind  me  at 
more  than  twice  that  distance.  Jones  was  directed  to  halt 
and  ride  back  every  time  that  he  should  see  anything  suspi- 
cious. Only  once,  however,  did  he  have  occasion  to  observe 
this  order.  It  was  when  we  were  approaching  the  Totopoto- 
moy ;  we  were  in  a  considerable  thicket  and  had  closed  up  in 
order  to  keep  each  his  leader  in  sight ;  Jones  was  ahead  of  me 
about  fifteen  steps.  I  saw  him  suddenly  pull  up  his  horse 
sharp ;  then  he  waved  his  hand  at  me  and  came  riding  back. 
At  his  first  motion  I  had  pidled  up.  When  Jones  had 
reached  me,  he  said,  "  There  is  smoke  in  front." 

I  beckoned  to  Frank  to  come  on.  We  conferred.  Jones 
had  heard  no  noise,  but  had  seen  a  thin  line  of  smoke  rising 
through  the  trees,  which,  he  said,  were  larger  and  less  dense 
just  ahead.  Jones  was  directed  to  dismount  and  to  approach 
the  smoke  until  he  could  learn  what  caused  it.  He  returned 
very  soon,  and  said  there  was  a  house  in  a  small  field  just 
before  us,  and  that  a  wide  road  ran  in  front  of  the  house.  We 
made  a  detour  and  passed  on. 

About  six  in  the  afternoon  we  reached  a  road  running 
north,  the  road,  as  I  supposed,  from  Eichmond  to  Hanover. 
We  were  now  about  halfway  between  Hanover  Court-House 
and  the  railroad  bridge  across  the  Chickahominy,  and  still  in 
the  Totopotomoy  swamp,  or  that  of  one  of  its  branches.  We 
crossed  the  road,  selecting  a  place  where  there  were  two 
sudden  bends,  and  looking  well  both  ways  before  venturing. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  HANOVER        215 

After  crossing,  I  directed  Jones  to  take  his  stand  near  the 
lower  bend,  and  Frank  to  watch  the  road  from  the  upper  bend, 
while  I  threw  sand  on  the  tracks  our  horses  had  made  in 
crossing  the  road.  We  were  now  within  less  than  a  mile  of 
the  Virginia  Central  railroad. 

I  directed  Frank  to  keep  watch  on  the  Hanover  road,  and 
went  with  Jones  toward  the  railroad,  and  stationed  him  near 
it,  or  rather  as  far  from  it  as  he  could  be  and  yet  see  it.  Then 
I  returned  to  Frank  and  took  his  place,  directing  him  to  find 
Jones  and  then  occupy  a  position  as  nearly  as  possible  half- 
way between  Jones  and  me.  Frank's  duties  were  to  connect 
me  with  Jones  and  to  care  for  the  three  horses,  which  were 
brought  together  in  the  centre  lest  they  should  be  heard.  We 
were  now  in  position  to  observe  any  movement  by  rail  or  by 
road  between  Richmond  and  Hanover  Court-House,  and  I  de- 
cided to  remain  here  for  the  most  of  the  nigbt. 

From  my  position  I  could  hear  trains  moving^  in  my  rear, 
but  for  half  the  night  Jones  reported  nothing.  He  could 
understand,  of  course,  that  I  could  hear  the  trains.  Rain  had 
set  in  at  nightfall. 

About  an  hour  after  midnight  I  heard  troops  marching  north 
up  the  road.  I  crept  up  nearer,  and,  although  it  was  dark 
and  raining,  I  could  make  out  that  they  were  cavalry  —  per- 
haps as  many  as  a  company.  I  concluded  that  the  rebels 
were  to  the  north  of  us,  that  is  to  say,  that  if  they  had 
moved  at  all,  they  were  yet  between  us  and  Hanover  Court- 
House. 

After  the  cavalry  had  passed,  I  thought  the  situation  very 
much  more  definite.  I  went  to  Frank,  and  directed  him  to 
call  in  Jones.  The  three  of  us  then  made  north,  through  the 
woods,  leading  our  horses.  We  had  a  hard  time.  The  woods 
were  wet.  The  branches  of  the  trees  struck  our  faces.  There 
was  hardly  enough  light  to  see  the  trunks  of  the  trees.  At 
last  we  reached  an  opening  through  which  I  feared  to  advance. 

We  could   see  no   light  from  camp-fires  in  any  direction. 


216  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

The  rebels  were  yet  far  to  the  north,  but  their  cavalry  patrols 
might  be  anywhere  —  might  be  upon  us  at  any  moment. 

Giving  Frank  my  bridle,  I  crept  up  to  the  road,  and  was  glad 
to  find  that  the  woods  on  the  east  side  of  it  extended  on 
toward  the  north.  I  returned  to  my  comrades  and  together 
we  crossed  the  road  and  continued  north  in  the  woods  on  the 
east  side  for  perhaps  half  a  mile.  It  was  now  nearly  day,  and 
still  raining.  In  the  wet  woods  on  this  dark  night  ^.here  was 
little  fear  of  encountering  any  enemy ;  their  cavalry  pickets 
would  be  in  the  roads. 

I  believed  that  Hanover  Court-House  was  less  than  five 
miles  from  us,  and  that  if  Branch's  camp  had  been  moved 
southward,  we  ought  soon  to  see  the  light  of  his  camp-fires. 

Again  there  was  an  open  field,  with  a  descending  slope 
ahead  of  us.  I  directed  Jones  to  mount  and  follow  me,  while 
Frank  should  halt,  with  his  horse  and  mine  to  guard,  at  the 
top  of  the  hill.  I  went  forward  on  foot,  Jones  riding  some 
ten  paces  in  my  rear.  At  the  bottom  of  the  hill  I  found  a 
small  stream.  Bidding  Jones  return  to  Frank  and  bring  him 
and  all  the  horses  up  to  the  branch,  I  went  up  the  next 
hill,  still  in  the  open.  At  the  top  of  the  hill  I  found  a  strag- 
gling thicket  of  small  pines,  not  more  than  a  hundred  feet  in 
width;  from  the  far  side  of  this  thicket  I  saw  more  open 
ground  before  m.e.  I  went  back,  hoping  to  find  my  comrades 
at  the  branch.  As  I  went  down  the  hill  I  heard  them 
coming  down  the  opposite  slope.  They  seemed  to  be  making 
a  great  noise.  One  of  the  horses  struck  fire  with  his  shoe 
against  a  stone.  I  was  greatly  alarmed,  and  decided  at  once 
to  occupy  the  thicket  of  pines  until  daylight. 

The  horses  were  tied,  and  Frank  was  left  to  guard  them  and 
keep  them  from  making  a  noise.  Jones  was  directed  to  scout 
to  the  left  as  far  as  the  road,  and  to  return  and  examine  the 
ground  to  our  right  for  a  few  hundred  yards ;  while  he  was 
engaged  in  this  work  I  went  forward  nearly  half  a  mile,  going 
first  over  open  ground,  then  through  a  thick  but  narrow  skirt 


THE  BATTLE  OF  HANOVER       217 

of  woods,  and  coming  out  upon  a  liill  from  which  I  could  see 
through  the  rain  a  dim  light  which  I  supposed  was  caused  by 
camp-fires.  A  train  of  cars  rumbled  at  my  left,  at  a  con- 
siderable distance  —  perhaps  more  than  a  mile  away. 

Returning  to  the  horses  I  found  Jones,  who  reported  that 
the  road  was  only  some  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  at  our 
left,  with  woods  on  the  other  side  of  it,  and  that  on  our  right 
there  was  nothing  but  a  wood  which  extended  to  a  swamp. 

Frank  and  Jones  were  told  to  snatch  what  sleep  they  could ; 
they  rolled  themselves  in  their  gum-blankets  and  lay  under  a 
thick  pine  bush.     The  rain  was  pouring  down. 

At  the  first  sign  of  day  I  woke  the  men.  We  silently  made 
our  way  across  the  road,  leading  the  horses ;  I  knew  that  the 
rain  would  soon  wash  out  all  our  tracks.  I  now  believed  that 
Branch  had  moved  southward  some  miles,  increasing  his  dis- 
tance from  the  Pamunkey. 

We  took  a  hasty  and  disagreeable  meal;  then  we  divided 
our  forces  again.  Jones  was  near  the  railroad,  I  near  the 
road,  and  Frank  in  the  centre.  We  moved  northward,  stop- 
ping every  hundred  yards  or  so,  to  be  certain  that  our  com- 
munications were  intact.  Jones  was  so  near  the  railroad  that 
I  began  to  think  the  train  of  cars  I  had  heard  running  had  not 
been  on  the  Central,  but  farther  away  on  the  Fredericksburg 
railroad,  which  in  this  place  runs  almost  parallel  with  the 
Central  and  some  miles  to  the  westward.  In  the  close  wet 
atmosphere  the  sounds  must  have  come  from  a  greater  distance 
than  I  had  first  thought.  This  reflection  made  me  suspect 
that  there  were  no  trains  running  on  the  Central  railroad,  — 
for  we  should  have  heard  them,  and  Jones  would  have  seen 
them,  —  and  I  decided  to  get  on  the  west  side  of  it  and  en- 
deavour to  make  my  way  toward  the  rear  of  the  enemy's  camp. 

It  was  not  yet  the  hour  of  sunrise  when  we  got  across  the 
railroad.  We  still  hugged  the  woods,  going  north,  with  the 
railroad  at  our  right  at  distances  varying  from  one  hundred  to 
three  hundred  yards.      We  ascended  a  low  hill,  from  which 


218  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

there  might  have  been  a  good  lookout  but  for  the  rain.  I  used 
General  Morell's  glass,  but  could  not  make  out  anything  in 
front. 

Suddenlj^  we  heard  the  beating  of  drums,  seemingly  not 
more  than  half  a  mile  to  the  north  of  us.  I  thought  that 
the  enemy's  pickets  must  be  very  near  to  us. 

Again  I  dismounted  and  crept  forward  alone,  bidding  both 
men  keep  a  close  watch  in  all  directions,  and  be  in  constant 
readiness  to  bring  me  my  horse  at  a  moment's  warning,  for 
I  knew  the  possibility  of  detection  and  pi.isuit.  Descending 
a  low  hill,  I  found  at  the  bottom  of  it  a  small  brook  flowing 
northeastward,  and  changed  my  course  at  once  to  suit  the 
stream.  I  went  slowly  and  cautiously  on  through  weeds  and 
bushes,  sometimes  wading  down  the  stream  itself,  the  water 
being  already  very  muddy  from  the  rains,  and  at  last,  while 
bending  to  right  and  left  and  up  and  down  seeking  vision 
ahead  through  the  thicket,  I  saw  before  me  an  infantry  vedette 
a  very  short  distance  in  front.  He  was  facing  south,  and  I 
knew  from  his  position,  seeing  that  he  was  on  the  west  side  of 
the  railroad,  that  Branch's  division  or  brigade  had  moved  from 
Hanover  Court-House,  or  else  that  here  was  another  body  of 
men  who  had  taken  position  on  his  right. 

Retracing  my  steps  as  rapidly  as  possible,  I  returned  to  the 
hill,  and  directed  Frank  to  ride  with  all  consistent  speed  to 
General  IMorell  or  General  Porter,  who  would  no  doubt  be  met 
advancing  on  the  road,  and  report  that  the  enemy  had  taken 
such  a  position  that  in  order  to  reach  his  right  flank  it  would 
be  necessary  for  the  Union  troops  to  cross  to  the  west  side  of 
the  Central  railroad  some  miles  south  of  Hanover  Court- 
House.  I  directed  him  to  report  also  my  doubt  as  to  whether 
Branch  had  really  moved  or  had  been  reenforced,  and  to  say 
that  I  should  endeavour  at  once  to  resolve  this  doubt,  and  to 
report  again  through  Jones. 

Erank  rode  away  on  his  mission.    It  was  about  seven  o'clock. 

I  put  on  the  gray  uniform.     A  lump  came  into  my  throat 


THE  BATTLE  OF  HANOVER       219 

when  I  saw  tliat  all  the  rents  had  been  mended,  but  I  had  no 
time  to  give  to  sentiment. 

My  glass  was  shmg  over  my  shoulder  beneath  the  gum-blan- 
ket, with  which  I  had  been  covered  all  night  as  a  protection 
from  the  rain.  I  took  nothing  else  with  me  except  my  can- 
teen. I  directed  Jones  to  remain  where  he  was,  and  if  I  should 
not  return  in  one  hour,  to  conclude  that  I  was  entangled  with 
the  enemy,  and  that  I  could  not  get  awa}^  in  time;  that  he 
must  assume  from  my  absence  that  the  rebel  right  extended 
far,  because  if  it  did  not  I  should  return  to  him ;  in  one  hour, 
therefore,  he  must  start  to  meet  our  advancing  troops  ;  in  that 
case  he  was  not  to  encumber  himself  with  my  horse ;  I  might 
be  able  to  get  back  to  the  spot  later  in  the  day.  I  added  that 
I  seriously  doubted  my  ability  to  get  back  before  the  advance 
of  the  Union  troops  should  reach  the  ground,  and  impressed 
upon  Jones  the  necessity  of  communicating  with  General  Morell 
before  dispositions  for  attack  had  gone  too  far.  He  compre- 
hended the  situation,  and  promised  to  follow  my  instruc- 
tions. 

Again  I  crept  up  to  the  spot  from  which  I  had  seen  the 
vedette ;  he  was  yet  there,  still  facing  south.  His  line,  there- 
fore, stretched  across  the  branch.  I  retired  a  hundred  yards 
or  more  to  a  gully  which  favoured  me,  and  crept  to  my  left  up 
the  hill.  At  the  top  of  the  hill  I  entered  thicker  Avoods.  I 
stood  behind  a  tree,  and  looked  and  listened.  Drums  could 
be  heard  toward  the  north,  and  seemingly  nearer  than  before ; 
I  thought  I  could  hear  the  long  roll,  and  feared  that  the  Union 
advance  was  already  known  by  the  Confederates. 

Now  I  got  on  my  hands  and  knees,  and  began  to  crawl  for- 
ward very  slowly.  My  gum-blanket  hindered  me ;  I  took  it 
off,  put  my  glass  in  it,  folded  and  strapped  it,  and  put  it  over 
my  shoulder.  I  was  already  wet.  Again  I  went  forward 
slowly.  Soon  I  saw  another  vedette,  facing  south.  I  retired, 
and  made  progress  rapidly  through  the  woods  to  my  left; 
then  I  crawled  up  a  long  distance.     I  had  hoped  to  be  able  to 


220  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

determine  the  right  of  the  enemy's  pickets  and  then  return  to 
Jones  and  send  him  with  my  report,  while  I  should  remain  at 
the  rendezvous  to  guide  the  troops  when  Jones  should  have 
succeeded  in  guiding  them  to  me.  But  I  had  found  the  pickets 
posted  in  a  very  advantageous  position  for  themselves,  and  a 
very  difficult  one  for  me ;  more  than  an  hour  had  passed  since 
I  left  Jones ;  he  was  already  on  his  way.  It  took  long  for  me 
to  make  a  prudent  approach.  As  soon  as  I  could  see  one  of 
the  vedettes,  I  would  retreat  through  the  woods  until  I  was  out 
of  danger ;  then  I  would  go  fifty  or  a  hundred  yards  to  my 
left,  and  approach  again  on  my  hands  and  knees  until  I  dis- 
covered a  man,  when  I  would  retreat  again,  and  so  on  alter- 
nately. At  one  place  I  saw  the  picket-liue  itself  stretching 
across  the  top  of  an  open  hill,  with  the  vedettes  concealed,  no 
doubt,  in  the  hollow  in  front.  I  was  compelled  to  go  almost 
entirely  around  a  field,  taking  a  back  track  for  a  quarter  of  a 
mile,  and  then  going  forward  again  on  the  west  side  of  the 
field. 

About  ten  o'clock  the  rain  ceased,  and  while  I  was  thus 
helped  in  one  respect,  I  was  hindered  also.  The  pickets 
would  be  more  alert,  and  I  felt  compelled  to  keep  at  a  greater 
distance  from  the  line.  I  made  another  advance,  and  this 
time  continued  advancing,  for  to  my  gratification  I  found  no 
extension  of  the  picket-line  in  front  of  me.  I  thought  at  first 
that  it  had  been  thrown  back  here,  and  that  I  was  now  going 
along  the  western  front. 

To  make  sure,  I  turned  to  the  right — to  the  east — and  went 
perhaps  three  hundred  yards  without  finding  anything,  and 
felt  convinced  that  there  was  no  western  front  to  the  rebel 
line.  I  continued  to  advance  eastward,  going  straight  toward 
the  railroad.  At  length  I  had  gone  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and 
had  found  nothing. 

Now  I  began  to  believe  that  the  rebel  picket-line  had  been 
withdrawn  while  T  was  going  around  the  field,  and  I  conjec- 
tured that  the  Confederates  had  become  aware  of  the  approach 


THE  BATTLE  OF  HANOVER        221 

of  our  column,  and  had  retreated,  or  else  were  concentrating 
to  meet  our  advancing  troops. 

Suddenly  I  heard  a  cannon  fire,  seemingly  a  mile  away,  in  a 
southeaster!}^  direction. 

For  a  clear  understanding  of  the  situation  it  would  perhaps 
be  well  to  state  here  that  both  Frank  and  Jones  had  reached 
the  cavalry  under  General  Emory,  at  the  head  of  our  column, 
and  had  reported  to  him  as  well  as  to  General  Morell ;  and 
that  our  column  had  advanced  by  the  road  we  had  left,  had 
thrown  out  a  skirmish-line  which  extended  beyond  the  railroad, 
but  not  far  enough,  and  had  continued  to  advance  until  the 
enemy  were  felt. 

The  cannon  which  I  had  heard,  and  which  continued  to  fire, 
were  of  Benson's  battery  of  U.  S.  artillery,  and  this  was  the 
beginning  of  the  battle  of  Hanover  Court-House,  so  called. 

At  this  time  one  of  Branch's  regiments  —  the  Twenty-eighth 
North  Carolina  under  Colonel  Lane  —  was  at  Taliaferro's  Mill 
at  the  head  of  Crump's  Creek,  on  a  road  to  the  right  of  our 
advancing  column,  which  had  thus  interposed,  without  know- 
ing it,  between  the  two  bodies  of  Confederates.  At  the  first 
warning  of  the  Union  advance,  General  Branch  had  formed 
his  troops  facing  the  east  and  southeast,  and  covering  the  Ash- 
cake  road,  which  runs  in  a  sort  of  semicircle  from  the  Hano- 
ver road  to  Ashland  on  the  west,  so  that  the  attack  of  the 
Union  forces  against  the  main  body  of  rebels  merely  forced 
them  to  give  ground  in  the  direction  of  Ashland.  Lane,  at 
Taliaferro's  Mill,  was  left  to  work  his  way  out,  which  he  did 
later  in  the  afternoon  with  considerable  loss. 

Now,  when  the  fight  opened,  the  most  of  Branch's  brigade  — 
having  moved  somewhat  forward  —  had  placed  itself  between 
me  and  our  troops.  I  soon  became  aware  of  this  fact  by  see- 
ing straggling  Confederate  soldiers  in  the  woods  in  several 
directions  ;  some  of  them  seemed  to  be  wounded. 

Half  a  mile  or  so  to  the  eastward  the  battle  was  loud.  By 
this  time  it  Avas  a  little  after  noon ;  the  sun  was  hot.      The 


222  WHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

sounds  of  battle  were  advancing  toward  the  north.  Straggling 
men  went  by  ine,  giving  me  no  attention  whatever.  I  kept  my 
position  —  not  remaining  still,  however,  but  walking  about  in 
the  woods  in  order  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  being  sus- 
pected of  trying  to  hide  —  and  awaited  the  issue. 

Soon  the  straggling  had  ceased,  and  th6  battle  died  away, 
and  I  began  to  fear  that  the  Confederates  had  had  the  best  of  it. 

An  hour  or  so  passed ;  then  a  new  battle  broke  out  in  a  south- 
easterly direction.  This  was  caused  by  I3ranch's  endeavouring 
to  throw  a  force  in  the  rear  of  the  Union  troops,  who  had 
pushed  on  nearly  to  Hanover  Court-House  in  pursuit  of  Lane's 
regiment,  leaving  Branch  on  their  left  flank  and  in  position  to 
do  great  damage.^  Branch  attacked  vigorously,  but  was  even- 
tually forced  back.  Again  men  began  to  rush  by  me,  and  this 
time  some  of  them  were  in  actual  flight.  There  were  many 
wounded;  gradually  the  woods  were  scattered  over  with  a 
regiment  or  two,  the  troops  showing  various  degrees  of  disor- 
ganization, some  of  the  companies  holding  together  and  retir- 
ing slowly,  while  men,  single  and  in  groups,  were  making  their 
way,  as  rapidly  as  they  could  run,  from  the  field,  yet  all  in  the 
same  direction,  as  though  they  had  some  knowledge  of  a  rally- 
ing-place. 

Seeing  this  confusion  of  many  men,  my  fear  increased,  and 
I  decided  quickly  —  whether  right  or  wrong  —  that  it  would 
not  do  for  me  to  remain  an  idle  and  unarmed  spectator  of  the 
retreat ;  and  I  thought,  too,  that  it  would  be  very  hazardous  to 
attempt  to  get  out  of  this  mass  of  men  by  going  in  a  northerly 
or  southerly  direction,  either  of  which  would  be  taking  them 
in  line,  if  they  could  be  said  to  have  a  line.  I  saw,  of  course, 
that  if  I  should  simply  stop  —  it  would  have  been  easy  to  play 

1  On  this  day  Lane's  regiment  saved  the  remainder  of  Branch's  brigade. 
The  main  body  of  Porter's  column  pursued  Lane  toward  the  Pamunkey,  no 
doubt  thinking  that  all  the  rebel  force  was  retreating  northward.  Lane  was 
entirely  routed,  and  was  cut  off  from  Branch  for  some  days ;  the  story  of  his 
retreat  and  return  to  Branch  is  very  interesting.     [EdJ 


THE  BATTLE   OF  HANOVER  223 

the  wounded  Confederate  —  the  Union  troops  would  soon  pick 
me  up ;  but  I  wanted  to  see  where  the  defeated  rebels  would 
rally.  A  man,  slightly  wounded,  I  suppose,  threw  down  his 
gun  near  me,  and  kept  on,  I  picked  up  the  gun  —  an  Enfield 
rifle  —  and  joined  the  fugitives.  Unaccountably  t&  me,  the 
disorder  of  the  troops  became  greater,  and  a  good  many  of  the 
stragglers  disburdened  themselves  of  whatever  they  could  throw 
away.  I  soon  secured  a  cartridge-box,  and  a  haversack,  and 
with  my  own  canteen  —  the  like  of  which  there  were  many  in 
the  hands  of  the  rebels  —  I  became,  for  the  time,  a  complete 
Confederate  soldier. 

No  immediate  cause  for  the  disorder  of  the  rebels  could  be 
seen.  The  Union  troops  were  not  in  sight.  I  expected  the 
brigade  to  soon  make  a  stand,  but  the  retreat  continued;  some- 
times I  caught  the  contagion  and  ran  along  with  running  men, 
although  I  was  sure  that  organized  bodies  were  now  covering 
our  rear.  I  had  no  distinct  purpose  except  to  determine  the 
new  line. 

After  some  little  time  I  began  to  wish  that  I  was  well  out 
of  the  scramble,  bat  I  saw  no  way  out  of  it.  Officers  were  rid- 
ing about  and  trying  to  make  the  men  get  into  some  sort  of 
formation.  Evening  was  near,  but  I  saw  that  before  darkness 
should  cover  me  the  brigade  would  be  formed  again  and  would 
make  a  new  stand,  or  else  retreat  in  better  order  in  the  night. 

I  now  gave  up  all  hope  of  ever  returning  to  find  my  horse, 
but  felt  confident  that  Jones  would  recover  him. 

As  I  had  anticipated,  the  retreat  became  less  disorderly,  and 
at  last  ceased  altogether.  The  officers  succeeded  in  forming  a 
line  across  a  road  running  to  the  westward,  which  I  believed, 
from  my  knowledge  of  the  map,  to  be  the  Ashcake  road.  When 
I  reached  this  forming  line  I  hesitated.  I  thought  at  first  that 
I  ought  to  make  no  pretence  of  joining  it;  that  prudence  com- 
manded me  to  keep  far  from  it.  Then  the  thought  came  to 
me  that  these  disorganized  battalions  were  forming  in  any 
shape  they  could  BLOW. iake  — men  belonging  to  different  com- 


224  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

panies,  and  even  to  different  regiments,  being  side  by  side ;  so 
I  got  into  line  with  them. 

I  smiled  when  I  remembered  that  Dr.  Khayme  had  once 
said  that  a  spy  might  find  it  his  duty  to  desert  to  the  enemy. 

The  men  seemed  to  have  lost  none  of  the  proper  pride  of 
the  soldier,  but  they  were  very  bitter  against  some  general  or 
other  unknown  to  me,  and  equally  so  to  them,  as  it  appeared ; 
he  had  allowed  them  to  be  defeated  when  they  could  easily 
have  been  reenforced.  From  the  talk  which  I  heard  I  drew 
the  inference  that  there  was  a  large  force  of  Confederates 
within  supporting  distance,  and  this  new  knowledge  or  sus- 
picion interested  me  so  greatly  that  I  determined  to  remain 
longer  with  these  troops  —  perhaps  even  until  the  next  day. 

It  was  now  dark.  There  had  never  been  any  j^ursuit,  so  far 
as  I  could  see.  Soon  the  troops  were  put  in  motion  westward, 
on  the  road  to  Ashland.  If  we  had  a  skirmish-line  on  either 
flank,  I  did  not  see  it ;  but  we  had  for  rear-guard  the  Seventh 
North  Carolina,  still  unbroken,  under  the  command,  as  I  learned, 
of  Colonel  Campbell.  It  would  have  been  very  easy  for  me  to 
step  out  of  ranks  at  any  time,  either  to  the  right  or  to  the  left, 
into  the  woods  —  or  into  open  ground  for  that  matter —  and  get 
away,  but  such  was  not  now  my  intention. 

The  retreat  continued  slowly,  the  mixed  men  endeavouring 
while  on  the  march  to  find  their  respective  regiments  and 
companies.  Mounted  men  —  officers  probably  —  rode  up  and 
down  the  column  crying  out :  "  Flag  of  Thirty-seventh  is  for- 
ward,*' "  Flag  of  Forty-fifth  is  behind  you,"  and  so  on,  thus 
telling  the  men  where  to  find  their  commands.  It  was  really 
good  work;  I  thought.  A  little  before  midnight  —  or  it  may 
have  been  much  earlier,  for  I  was  well-nigh  worn  out  —  a  halt 
was  made  at  the  crossroads  which  I  afterward  knew  to  be  the 
crossing  of  the  Ashcake  and  Eichmond  roads  about  a  mile  and 
a  half  southeast  of  Ashland.  Here  all  the  men  could  easily 
find  their  commands,  and  I  knew  that  perfect  organization 
would  be  effected  in  a  very  few  minutes.     Before  the  line  was 


THE  BATTLE  OF  HANOVER       225 

completely  formed,  I  walked  off  and  was  at  once  alone  in  the 
darkness. 

By  the  stars  I  was  able  to  strike  a  course ;  I  went  nearly 
east  for  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and  lay  down  under  a 
tree,  first  spreading  my  gum-blanket  on  the  wet  ground.  My 
weariness  amounted  almost  to  exhaustion.  I  was  hungry,  too, 
and  began  to  explore  my  predecessor's  haversack,  but  fell 
asleep  while  thinking  of  food,  and  slept  soundly  the  remainder 
of  the  night. 

At  daylight  I  was  awake.  I  ate  some  bacon  and  hoecake 
which  I  found  in  the  haversack ;  while  doing  this,  I  took  a 
good  look  at  my  gun  and  accoutrements.  The  rifle  was  a  long 
Enfield  with  three  bands ;  the  cartridge-box  and  cap-box  were 
slung  to  a  single  waist-belt,  the  scabbard  for  the  bayonet 
also,  but  there  was  no  bayonet.  The  brass  plate  on  the  lid  of 
the  cartridge-box  was  a  U.  S.  plate ;  the  belt-buckle  also 
was  Federal;  both  plate  and  buckle  had  been  turned  upside 
down,  so  that  each  bore  the  inverted  letters  S  n.  There  were 
a  few  cartridges  in  the  box  —  such  cartridges  as  I  had  not 
seen  before.  I  found  that  the  rifle  was  not  loaded,  and  I 
allowed  it  to  remain  empty. 

After  I  had  eaten,  I  crept  nearer  the  crossroads.  The 
rebels  had  gone.  I  examined  the  road  and  found  that  all  the 
tracks  in  the  mud  were  pointing  toward  Ashland.  I  followed 
on,  keeping  for  a  time  openly  in  the  road,  for  I  was  as  good  a 
Confederate  as  need  be  unless  I  should  be  overtaken  by  any  of 
our  own  men.  I  considered  now  that  this  force  of  the  enemy 
was  likely  to  establish  connection  at  once  with  the  main  Con- 
federate lines  near  Richmond,  if  indeed  it  had  not  already 
done  so,  and  that  if  I  should  turn  southward  I  should  be  in 
danger  of  being  forced  into  the  ranks  and  questioned,  so  I 
decided  to  go  north  of  Ashland,  and  determine  if  possible  the 
left  of  the  line,  which  would  be,  I  judged,  the  extreme  left  of 
the  whole  Confederate  army. 

In  approaching  Ashland  I  had  no  trouble ;  when  I  came  in 


226  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

sight  of  tlie  village  I  began  to  make  a  detour  to  the  north, 
and  about  an  hour  after  sunrise  placed  myself  in  observation 
between  the  Fredericksburg  railroad  and  the  Richmond  road, 
which  here  run  parallel  due  north  and  about  half  a  mile  apart. 
I  was  facing  south. 

About  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  was  surprised  to  see  to 
the  rear  of  my  left  the  Eiclmioiid  road  full  of  troops  marching 
southward.  I  crawled  up  as  near  to  the  road  as  I  dared,  and 
watched  them.  There  seemed  to  be  but  one  regiment,  which 
was  a  large  one.  Three  or  four  officers  rode  at  the  head  of  the 
regiment;  one,  Mdio  I  supposed  was  the  colonel,  was  a  large, 
heavy -built  man  who  sat  his  horse  proudly.-^  The  men  marched 
at  the  route  step;  the  regiment  was  in  fine  order.  In  the  cen- 
tre were  two  flags :  one  an  ordinary  Confederate  battle-flag ; 
the  other  an  immense  blue  banner,  emblazoned  with  the  silver 
palmetto  tree.  I  could  not  tell  the  number  of  the  regiment, 
although  by  this  time  I  had  my  glass  fixed  on  the  flag.  The 
Carolinians  passed  on  south  and,  I  supposed,  entered  Ash- 
land. 

I  still  kept  my  place,  observing  the  roads  narrowly.  I  re- 
mained in  this  position  the  rest  of  the  28th,  but  saw  no  other 
movement.  At  nightfall  I  crept  iip  nearer  to  the  village 
and  found  a  comfortable  resting-place  in  an  old  haystack,  east 
of  the  place. 

The  next  morning  I  was  slowly  advancing  toward  the  rail- 
road, with  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  whether  Ashland  was 
still  occupied  by  the 'rebels,  when  I  heard  noises  behind  me, 
and,  turning,  I  saw  three  Union  soldiers  on  horseback  coming 
toward  me.  They  saw  me  at  the  same  time.  One  of  them 
shouted  to  me  to  surrender,  and  I  threw  up  my  hands.  They 
belonged  to  Company  D  of  the  Fifth  U.  S.  cavalry.  I  easily 
succeeded  in  proving  to  the  lieutenant  in  command,  who  soon 
rode  up  at  the  head  of  the  company,  and  whose  name  I  learned 

1  Doubtless  Colonel  Hamilton,  who  on  this  day  marched  south  from  Han- 
over Junction  with  his  regiment,  the  Jlrst  South  Carolina.     [Ed.] 


THE  BATTLE  OF  HANOVER        227 

was  Watkins,  tliat  I  was  a  Union  scout.  The  sight  of  General 
Morell's  glass  had  its  effect. 

I  told  the  lieutenant  that  in  my  opinion  there  was  no  strong 
force  in  Ashland.  We  were  at  this  time  almost  in  sight  of 
the  town.  The  lieutenant  mounted  me  behind  a  trooper ;  the 
company  made  a  dash  into  the  j^lace ;  the  rebels  fled,  leaving 
two  of  their  pickets  in  our  hands.  In  the  village  were  some 
stragglers  who  also  were  made  prisoners.  We  remained  in 
Ashland  for  several  hours,  the  cavalry  securing  much  property. 
There  were  a  good  many  horses  taken,  one  of  which  the  lieu- 
tenant willingly  allowed  me  to  use. 

The  enemy's  infantry  had  retreated  nearer  Richmond,  and, 
as  all  the  country  to  the  east  of  us  was  now  in  our  hands, 
there  was  nothing  to  hinder  my  reaching  General  Morell's 
camp  that  night.  The  general  told  me  that  they  had  given 
me  up  for  lost,  and  asked  what  had  become  of  me  after  sending 
Jones  back.  I  gave  an  account  of  my  work,  and  he  was  pleased 
to  say  that  he  approved  of  what  I  had  done.  He  told  me  that 
Jones  had  recovered  the  horse  that  I  had  abandoned. 

As  I  approached  Dr.  Khayme's  tent,  the  Doctor  was  just 
entering  it;  the  tent  was  dark.  I  stood  outside  until  he 
lighted  a  candle ;  then  I  called  him  by  name.  He  rushed  out 
and  embraced  me.  In  a  few  words  I  told  him  of  my  work, 
and  why  I  had  been  away  so  long. 

"  I  will  write  at  once  to  General  Grover,"  said  he,  "  and  to 
Lydia,  too,  who  is  at  Porter's  field  hospital;  we  have  many 
wounded  from  youx  battle." 


XIX 

THE    ACCURSED    NIGHT 

"  If  ever  I  were  traitor, 
My  name  be  blotted  from  the  book  of  life, 
And  I  from  heaven  banished  !  "  — Shakespeare. 

The  night  of  my  return  was  the  29th  of  May,  1862.  I  was 
very  tired,  although  I  had  had  a  good  rest  the  night  before, 
and  alternations  of  walking  and  riding  in  the  day.  Our  supper 
was  soon  despatched,  and  the  Doctor  got  his  pipe. 

"Now,  Jones,  pull  off  that  distinguished  disguise  and  put 
on  yovir  own  dress;  there  it  is  in  the  corner,  just  as  your  name- 
sake brought  it." 

"No,  Doctor,"  said  I;  "let's  save  labour  by  not  doing  it;  I 
can  content  myself  till  bedtime  as  I  am." 

"  How  long  have  you  had  it  on  ?  " 

"  Almost  two  days." 

"  Don't  you  begin  to  feel  like  a  Confederate  ?  " 

"  Not  just  at  this  moment.  Doctor." 

"  So  you  have  been  with  North  Carolinians  and  with  Geor- 
gians again  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  very  nearly  with  South  Carolinians." 

"  You  mean  the  regiment  with  the  blue  flag  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  wish  I  could  have  learned  its  number." 

"  It  was  the  First,  very  likely,"  said  he. 

This  seemed  a  most  astonishing  statement,  although  I  had 
many  times  before  had  evidences  of  peculiar  knowledge  pos- 
sessed by  Dr.  Khayme.  I  thought  it  was  the  time  to  ask 
him,  directly,  how  it  was  that  he  obtained  information  unob- 
tainable by  ordinary  mortals. 

228 


THE   ACCUESED  NIGHT  229 

"  Why  should  you  think  so,  Doctor  ?  " 

"Because  of  more  than  one  circumstance.  Before  commu- 
nications with  our  Southern  friends  became  so  infrequent  I 
kept  up  with  Charleston.  I  know  that  the  First  South  Caro- 
lina regiment  was  on  Sullivan's  Island  early  in  1861,  some 
months  before  the  bombardment  of  Fort  Sumter,  and  I  remem- 
ber reading  in  the  Mercury  that  the  ladies  of  Charleston  had 
presented  the  First  with  a  very  heavy  blue  silk  banner  —  a  State 
flag  with  the  silver  palmetto  and  crescent." 

"  Then  it  may  be  the  First  regiment.  Doctor ;  I  saw  the  pal- 
metto and  the  crescent." 

"  More  than  that,"  he  continued ;  "  the  First  South  Carolina 
is  one  of  the  regiments  which  were  lately  under  Anderson  near 
Fredericksburg,  and  we  know  that  Anderson's  force  has  fallen 
back  on  Richmond.  It  must  have  passed  through  Ashland 
very  recently." 

"I  wonder  if  there  are  any  men  in  that  regiment  whom  we 
used  to  know,"  said  I,  musingly. 

"  Very  likely ;  there  are  companies  in  it  from  Charleston." 

"  Wouldn't  it  have  been  strange  if  I  had  gone  with  them, 
and  somebody  had  recognized  me  ?  " 

"  Stranger  things  than  that  might  happen  to  you ;  somebody 
might  have  recognized  you  —  some  old  schoolmate,  for  example 
—  and  yet  might  have  sworn  that  you  are  a  Carolinian.  Was 
it  known  to  everybody  at  school  that  you  were  from  the 
North?" 

"  I  think  it  was,  at  first ;  but  not  in  my  last  years  there ;  of 
course,  some  of  the  boys  knew  it." 

"  Besides,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  there  is  more  than  one  Korthern 
man  in  the  Confederate  army  —  men  who  moved  South  before 
the  war." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so ;  but  I  cannot  understand  them." 

"  They  have  acquired  homes,  and  think  they  must  defend 
their  homes ;  that  is  all,  at  least  so  far  as  concerns  those  of 
them  who  reason,  and  the  others  don't  count." 


230  WHO   GOES   THEKE  ? 

"  They  might  at  least  he  neutral,"  I  said. 

"How  could  they  think  that  being  neutral  would  defend 
their  homes  ?  " 

"  And  you  think  that  the  Southern  people  really  believe  their 
homes  in  danger?" 

"  No  doubt  of  it  —  and  they  are  right.  Have  you  not  already 
seen  more  than  one  Southern  home  destroyed  ?  " 

"  Yes,  here  where  the  war  is ;  but  the  average  home  in  the 
South,  far  away  from  the  armies." 

''  There  will  have  been  very  few  homes  in  the  South  far 
away  from  armies ;  to  conquer  the  South  you  must  overrun 
her  territory." 

"  Doctor,  you  are  gloomy  to-night,  and  I  confess  that  I  am 
also.     I  wonder  what's  the  matter  with  us." 

"I  don't  admit  being  unusually  gloomy,"  said  the  Doctor; 
"  true,  1  have  been  seeing  pain  and  wretchedness  recently,  and 
so  have  you.  Our  trades,  however,  ought  to  have  accustomed 
us  to  such  by  this  time,  if  ever." 

"  1  don't  think  I  should  ever  become  accustomed  to  blood ; 
1  don't  wish  to,"  said  I. 

"  You  need  never  fight  another  battle,"  said  he. 

"  How  can  1  avoid  battle  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Your  services  as  a  scout  are  worth  more  than  forty  cents 
a  day ;  you  ought  not  to  fight  at  all." 

"  You  think  fightirg  more  dangerous  than  scouting  ?  " 

"Fighting  and  scouting  are  more  dangerous  than  scout- 
ing." 

"  But  what  can  I  do  ?  If  I  am  recalled  by  General  Grover, 
I  shall  likely  be  required  to  do  both." 

"  I  think  not.  They  want  you  to  remain  alive.  Unless  you 
join  the  Confederates  again,  as  you  did  in  the  battle  the  other 
day,  it  is  not  very  likely  that  you  will  serve  any  more  in  the 
ranks ;  of  course,  you  can  do  so  if  you  insist  upon  it." 

"  Insist  on  what  ?     Joining  the  Confederates  ?  " 

"  No ;  insist  on  fighting  in  the  ranks." 


THE   ACCUESED  NIGHT  231 

"  I  should  feel  it  my  duty  to  go  into  battle  with  the  Eleventh 
unless  I  had  other  work  at  the  time." 

"Do  you  think  it  your  duty  to  give  your  best  powers  to 
your  cause,  or  your  poorest  ?  " 

«  Can  I  not  do  both  ?  " 

"  No  —  not  at  all ;  you  should  study  your  important  calling, 
and  make  an  art  of  it." 

"  I  dread  it ;  to  believe  that  I  must  become  a  regular  spy  is 
a  terrible  thought  to  me." 

"Why  so?" 

"  Well,  Doctor,  you  know  that  I  am  peculiar." 

"  You  allude  to  your  memory  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  effect  does  spying  have  upon  you  ?  " 

"  It  seems  to  weaken  me,  body  and  mind.  I  was  never  so 
exhausted  in  my  life  as  when  I  came  back  on  the  2-4th." 

"  You  had  had  a  hard  time,  no  doubt." 

"  But  it  was  not  merely  a  hard  time ;  it  was  a  peculiar  time. 
I  believe  that  for  a  short  while  I  lost  sight  of  the  fact  that  I 
was  a  Union  soldier." 

"  That  only  shows  that  you  acted  your  part." 

"  The  sudden  changes  are  what  I  find  so  hard.  To  imagine 
myself  a  Confederate,  and  then  in  a  moment  to  become  a  Fed- 
eral, and  in  the  next  moment  by  effort  become  a  rebel  again, 
is  revolutionary." 

"  Very  likely." 

"  I'd  prefer  being  in  the  ranks." 

"  Do  you  believe  that  your  peculiar  condition  is  what  makes 
your  sufferings  ?  " 

"  I  know  it.  The  vivid  result  of  my  imagination  is  suddenly 
contrasted  with  as  vivid  a  memory ;  before  I  quit  being  one 
man  I  become  another,  and  I  can  see  two  of  me  at  once." 

"  And  that  proves  painful  ?  " 

"  It  is  torture.  If  I  am  to  imagine  myself  a  Confederate  in 
order  to  succeed,  why,  I  prefer  the  ranks." 


232  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"  You  have  struck  upon  a  truth  not  generally  appreciated, 
Jones ;  the  relation  of  the  imagination  and  the  memory  is 
almost  unity.  But  for  your  recollecting  your  life  in  the 
South,  and  your  consequent  real  and  practical  sympathy  with 
the  people  of  the  South,  you  could  not  become,  in  imagina- 
tion, a  Confederate.  Imagination  depends  largely  on  mem- 
ory. The  extraordinary  vividness  of  your  memory  produces  a 
corresponding  vividness  in  imagining.  You  see  how  valuable 
are  your  peculiar  powers.  I  have  no  doubt  that  with  a  little 
data  concerning  some  narrow  section  of  the  South,  such  as 
knowledge  of  family  names  and  family  history,  you  could  join 
the  Confederate  army  and  play  a  most  important  role,  giving 
to  your  generals  information  of  contemplated  movements  as 
well  as  of  movements  in  actual  progress." 

"  Doctor  Khayme,"  said  I,  "  never  could  I  consent  to  such 
a  life." 

"  I  do  not  advise  it,"  said  he,  without  appearing  to  regard 
my  emotion ;  "  I  doubt  if  it  would  be  best  for  you.  It  would 
be  more  likely  to  confirm  your  intermittent  states.  What  you 
need  is  to  get  rid  entirely  of  any  necessity  for  the  exercise  of 
either  memory  or  imagination  for  a  time.  To  cherish  either 
is  to  cherish  both.  On  the  contrary,  any  great  and  long-con- 
tinued interest,  which  would  dissociate  you  from  your  past, 
would,  in  my  judgment,  prove  the  end  of  your  peculiar 
states." 

I  did  not  reply.  The  Doctor  remained  silent  for  a  long  time. 
When  he  spoke  again,  he  rose  to  retire.  "  Good  night,  my  boy ; 
and  hope  for  the  best.  Whatever  comes  is  right,  as  it  fits 
into  the  total.  Keep  up  your  spirits.  War  has  many  start- 
ling opportunities  as  well  as  disasters." 

******* 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  31st,  sounds  of  a  heavy  battle  were 
heard  miles  away  to  the  southeast,  and  soon  the  rumour  ran 
that  the  whole  of  McClellan's  left  wing  was  engaged.  Fear- 
ing that  my  company  was  actually  in  battle,  I  begged  Dr. 


THE  ACCURSED  NIGHT  233 

Khayme  to  send  a  man  to  report  for  me  to  our  adjutant ;  Gen- 
eral Morell  kindly  added,  at  the  Doctor's  solicitation,  a  few 
words  to  General  Grover. 

This  battle  of  Fair  Oaks,  or  Seven  Pines  as  the  rebels  call 
it,  raged  during  all  the  afternoon  of  the  31st  of  May  and 
part  of  June  1st,  and  did  at  one  time  threaten  to  call  for  the 
whole  strength  of  McClellan's  left;  Grover's  brigade,  how- 
ever, was  still  held  in  reserve,  and  did  not  become  engaged. 
While  the  battle  was  in  progress,  intense  but  subdued  excite- 
ment was  shown  by  the  men  in  General  Morell's  command, 
and  by  the  other  troops  on  the  right.  On  the  part  of  all, 
there  was  constant  expectation  of  orders  to  march  to  the  help 
of  the  Union  forces  on  the  further  side  of  tlie  Chickahominy, 
and  when  news  of  the  final  struggle  came,  in  which  our  men 
had  more  than  held  their  own,  disappointment  at  not  being 
chosen  was  as  great,  perhaps,  as  joy  over  success.  All  seemed 
to  feel  that  they  had  been  robbed  of  an  opportunity. 

******* 

On  the  evening  of  June  2d,  the  Doctor  and  I  were  sitting  in 
his  tent,  he  busily  engaged  in  writing  I  know  not  what,  when  an 
order  came  from  General  Morell  for  me  to  report  to  him  at  once. 

Being  ushered  into  the  general's  tent,  I  found  there  two  offi- 
cers unknown  to  me.  The  one  who  most  attracted  my  atten- 
tion—  thoiigh  I  was  careful  not  to  show  any  curiosity  —  was 
a  man  of  nearly  forty  years,  of  medium  height  and  muscular 
frame.  His  hair  was  dark ;  his  mustache  very  slightly 
tinged  with  gray.  His  manner  indicated  an  extremely  ner- 
vous sense  of  reponsibility,  and  the  attitude  of  deference, 
which  the  others  observed  in  his  regard,  was  very  noticeable. 
His  face  reminded  me  vaguely  of  some  portrait  —  I  knew 
not  whose. 

The  other  officer  was  a  larger  man,  of  about  the  same  age, 
and  of  a  more  cheerful  temper,  if  one  could  judge  in  a  single 
opportunity.  He  seemed  to  be  on  a  very  familiar  footing 
with  the  officer  whom  I  have  first  mentioned. 


234  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

General  Morel!  did  not  present  me  to  either  of  the  two  offi- 
cers. In  the  middle  of  the  tent  was  a  camp-table,  upon  which 
a  map  was  spread,  and  around  which  the  three  officers  were 
sitting.  General  Morell  allowed  me  to  stand,  cap  in  hand, 
while  I  listened  to  some  words  of  a  conversation  which  I  sup- 
posed had  been  practically  finished  before  I  entered. 

'*  I  believe  that  you  clearly  understand  what  is  needed," 
said  the  smaller  officer. 

"  Perfectly,"  said  General  Morell. 

The  larger  man  contented  himself  with  merely  nodding. 

*'  Then,"  said  the  first  speaker,  "  it  only  remains  to  know 
certainly  whether  we  have  the  means  in  hand." 

The  larger  man  now  spoke:  "The  work  can  be  done  ;  if  not 
in  one  way,  then  in  another.  A  reconnaissance  would  effect 
with  certainty  our  present  purpose.  Why  risk  possible  fail- 
ure with  a  single  man  ?  " 

"  We  cannot  be  too  prudent,"  replied  the  other ;  "  we  must 
not  divulge  our  intentions.  Lee  would  know  at  once  the 
meaning  of  a  reconnaissance." 

"  We  might  make  more  than  one,  and  let  him  guess  which 
is  serious." 

"  No ;  the  way  to  gb  about  it  is  not  by  force.  If  General 
Morell  has  confidence  in  his  means,  let  General  Morell  proceed 
in  his  own  way." 

**  I  have  confidence,"  said  General  Morell ;  "  but,  of  course, 
any  plan  might  fail.  The  only  thing  in  life  that  is  certain  is 
death.     I  should  say  that  we  have  nine  chances  out  of  ten." 

"  Then  do  it  your  own  way,"  said  the  small  officer,  rising ; 
the  others  rose  also.  "  I  must  tell  you  good  night,  gentle- 
men." 

The  three  now  left  the  tent,  while  I  remained. 

I  had  not  been  unobservant.  No  names  had  been  spoken, 
nor  any  title  given  to  the  officers,  and  I  suspected  that  very 
high  titles  had  been  suppressed.  Exactly  who  these  officers 
were,  I  could  not  know,  but  that  they  were  in  great  aiUthority 


THE  ACCURSED  NIGHT  235 

was  not  to  be  doubted;  I  made  a  wild  guess  that  one  was 
General  Porter  and  the  smaller  man  some  trusted  staff-officer 
from  army  headquarters.^ 

General  IMorell  returned  alone.  He  motioned  me  to  a  seat 
at  the  table,  then  sat  opposite  me.  For  a  time  he  seemed 
preoccupied.  At  length  he  looked  me  full  in  the  face,  and 
said  gravely,  "  Berwick,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for  us  here 
on  this  flank  to  get  accurate  information  of  the  enemy's 
strength,  and  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  The  whole  line  of  the  enemy  ?  "  I  asked. 

"No;  the  strength  of  his  left  —  the  position  and  forces  of 
his  left  wing." 

"  A  difficult  undertaking.  General,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  but  not  too  difficult,  I  think  ;  and  whether  difficult  or 
not,  it  must  be  done.  Here  is  our  map.  It  shows  us  noth- 
ing but  the  country,  with  the  positions  of  a  few  batteries  and 
pickets  that  can  be  plainly  seen  from  our  lines.  We  do  not 
know  how  well  fortified,  or  how  many,  are  the  troops  opposed 
to  us.  We  have  information,  but  we  fear  that  it  is  not  relia- 
ble ;  in  fact,  it  is  contradictory  in  some  of  the  most  essential 
points.  We  do  not  know  the  length  of  the  enemy's  line  ;  we 
suppose  it  rests  on  the  James  River  above  Richmond  as  well 
as  below  Richmond.  That  makes  too  long  a  line  to  be  very 
strong  in  all  its  parts.  Their  left  may  be  a  mere  skirmish- 
line  ;  their  extreme  right  may  be  only  cavalry.  Some  parts 
of  their  line  must  be  very  thin,  and  it  is  suspected  that  their 
left  is  the  thinnest  part." 

To  this  I  said  nothing,  and  the  general  continued :  "  The 
force  under  Anderson  from  Fredericksburg  has  reenforced  the 
army  now  under  Lee,  and  we  are  not  sure  what  position  it 

1  Doubtless  this  officer  was  General  McClellan  himself.  Mr.  Berwick 
describes  very  well  McClellau's  person,  which— from  the  poor  cuts  in  the 
newspapers  —  had  made  an  impression,  yet  a  vague  impression.  It  is  not  a 
matter  for  wonder  that  Mr.  Berwick  had  never  before  been  in  the  presence 
of  the  great  general.    [Ed.] 


236  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

holds.  The  force  under  Jackson  causes  great  apprehension. 
From  several  quarters  we  get  rumours  of  an  intention  or  sup- 
posed intention  of  Lee  to  march  Jackson  against  our  right. 
If  there  is  such  a  purpose,  we  ought,  by  all  means,  to  anticipate 
the  movement.  If  we  are  ever  to  attack,  it  ought  not  to  be 
after  Jackson  reenforces  Lee." 

While  the  general  had  been  speaking,  my  mind  was  more 
fixed  upon  myself  than  upon  what  he  was  saying.  The  ideas 
he  expressed  were  readily  understood:  their  implications  in 
regard  to  myself  were  equally  clear ;  he  wanted  me  to  serve 
again  as  a  getter  of  information.  My  stomach  rose  against  my 
trade ;  I  had  become  nauseated  —  I  don't  know  a  better  word 
—  with  this  spying  business.  The  strain  upon  me  had  been 
too  great ;  the  23d  and  24th  of  May  had  brought  to  my  mental 
nature  transitions  too  sudden  and  entire  to  be  wholesome ;  I 
felt  that  only  a  positive  command  to  enter  the  rebel  lines  would 
justify  me  in  doing  myself  such  violence  again ;  I  had  begun 
to  fear  for  myself ;  I  certainly  should  not  volunteer. 

"  Now,  Berwick,"  said  the  general ;  "  I  believe  that  you  are 
the  man  for  our  business.  Do  you  feel  free  to  undertake  it 
for  us  ?  " 

"  Please  tell  me  what  you  have  in  mind.  General,"  I  said, 
more  with  the  view  of  softening  a  predetermined  refusal  than 
with  any  intention  of  heeding  his  wishes. 

"  We  want  accurate  information  of  the  enemy's  strength  on 
his  left,"  said  he ;  "  look  at  this  map  —  here  is  our  position, 
nearly  on  our  extreme  right;  we  want  you  to  find  out  what 
is  opposite  our  right  and  what  force  extends  beyond  our  front. 
The  enemy's  line  curves  or  else  has  a  salient  somewhere  beyond 
this  point ;  his  line  turns  somewhere  and  extends  in  some 
form  to  the  James  River.  Find  that  salient  or  curve ;  ascertain 
its  strength  and  the  strength  of  their  left,  or  western  face." 

"  And  I  need  not  go  into  their  lines  to  do  that  ?  "  I  asked, 
somewhat  hopefully,  but  only  a  moment  hopefully,  for  I  saw 
how  impossible  would  be  my  suggestion. 


THE  ACCURSED  NIGHT  237 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  find  it  necessary  to  go  into  the  enemy's 
lines,"  said  the  general. 

It  was  now  on  my  lips  to  ask  General  Morell  whether  I  had 
choice  in  the  matter,  that  is,  whether  I  might  decline  the  honour 
offered  me ;  but  I  was  checked  by  the  thought  that  it  would  be 
impossible  to  explain  my  reluctance ;  and  without  an  explana- 
tion of  my  peculiarity  I  should  suffer  the  loss  of  his  respect  — 
something  I  did  not  wish  to  forfeit. 

"No,"  he  repeated,  "you  must  get  within  their  lines  at 
night ;  remain  a  day  with  them,  two  if  necessary,  and  come 
out  at  night.  The  distance  is  not  great.  A  few  miles  to  go 
and  come,  and  a  few  miles  within  their  lines." 

Oh,  yes !  to  him  it  was  easy  for  me  to  do  this.  And  I  have 
no  doubt  that  he  honestly  believed  the  reputed  charm  of  such 
adventures  fascinated  me  as  well  as  others.  But  if  that  man 
on  that  accursed  night  of  June  had  seen  what  was  going  on  in 
me,  he  would  have  been  far  from  choosing  Jones  Berwick  as 
the  man  to  send  upon  an  enterprise  that  demanded  a  fixed 
purpose  and  an  undisturbed  mind ;  rather  would  he  have 
ordered  Dr.  Kliayme  to  see  to  it  that  I  had  perfect  repose 
and  gentle  care  lest  worst  should  follow  worse. 

But  how  could  I  tell  him  ?  If  I  should  desire  to  tell  him, 
how  could  I  presume  upon  his  good-nature  ?  —  the  good-nature 
of  a  general  of  a  division,  whose  office  was  high  and  whose 
time  was  invaluable,  and  who,  as  I  knew  well,  tolerated  my 
presence  for  a  few  moments  only,  in  order  that  he  might 
accomplish  a  purpose. 

I  must  decline  or  accept  without  explaining. 

"  You  seem  to  hesitate,  Berwick,"  said  the  general ;  "  what 
is  wrong  ?  " 

Brought  thus  face  to  face  with  decision,  I  could  hesitate  no 
longer;  "I  should  like  to  confer  with  Dr.  Khayme,  General," 
I  said. 

He  looked  surprised.  "  What  has  Dr.  Khayme  to  do  with 
this  ?  "  he  asked ;  then,  in  a  milder  tone,  he  said,  "  I  have  no 


238  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

objection,    however ;     Dr.    Khayme    will    help    rather    than 

hinder." 

"  The  Doctor  is  my  best  friend,"  I  said ;  "  and  he  is  much 
wiser  than  I  am ;  if  I  should  undertake  the  duty  you  outline, 
he  would,  as  you  say,  General,  help  rather  than  hinder ;  he 
can  be  a  very  great  help." 

"  We  have  little  time  to  spare,  Berwick.  How  long  do  you 
want  with  Dr.  Khayme  ?  " 

"  Did  you  expect  me  to  begin  work  to-night.  General  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  you  ought  to  be  within  their  lines  by  daylight." 

"  And  what  is  the  time  now  ?  " 

"Ten  o'clock." 

"  Can  you  wait  my  answer  an  hour  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  your  answer  ?  "  he  said. 

The  question  and  the  tone  were  not  to  my  taste.  If  I  was 
being  treated  as  a  party  to  a  possible  agreement,  well  and  good ; 
if  not  —  if  the  general  was  merely  commanding  me  to  obey 
him,  well  and  good — I  would  obey  without  further  delay  or 
hesitation. 

I  rose  and  saluted.  "  General,"  I  said,  "  if  you  order  me  to 
go  into  the  enemy's  lines,  I  shall  go.  If  you  are  asking  me  to 
go  into  the  enemy's  lines,  I  inquire,  in  my  turn,  whether  you 
can  wait  my  answer  an  hour." 

"  Sit  doT^Ti,  Berwick,"  said  the  general. 

I  obeyed.  It  was  not  strange  that  he  should  wish  no  un- 
pleasantness. Though  scouts  are  under  orders  just  as  other 
men  are,  it  is  not  hard  to  understand  that  generals  feel  it 
necessary  to  be  somewhat  delicate  in  their  treatment  of  such 
jjeculiar  servants.  I  suppose  that,  in  the  mind  of  a  general, 
there  always  exists  some  fear  that  his  spies  will  not  prove  as 
diligent  and  self-sacrificing  as  they  could  be.  I  had  not,  in 
my  treatment  of  General  Morell,  intentionally  played  upon 
this  fear :  such  a  course  would  have  been  contemptible ;  yet  I 
could  see  at  once  the  effect  of  my  speech,  and  I  endeavoured  to 
set  myself  right  in  his  mmd. 


THE   ACCURSED  NIGHT  239 

<'  Perhaps,  General,"  said  I ;  "  perhaps  I  have  presumed  too 
much  upon  the  apparent  nature  of  our  former  relations ;  if  so, 
I  beg  to  apologize.  Give  me  a  plain,  direct  order  and  I  will 
try  to  obey  it,  and  without  mental  reservation." 

"  But,  Berwick,  my  good  fellow,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do 
that  any  order  to  a  scout  can  only  be  of  the  most  general  natui-e  ; 
and  you  know,  too,  that  an  unwilling  scout  is  no  scout  ab  all." 

"  Then,  to  be  plain  with  you,  General,  I  should  greatly  prefer 
that  you  send  some  other  man  on  this  expedition." 

"  Berwick,"  said  he,  "  you  are  the  best  man  available  for  this 
present  work." 

"  Then  order  me  to  go.  General." 

"  jSTo,"  said  he  ;  "I'll  humour  yon.  Go  to  Dr.  Khayme  and 
return  in  one  hour  if  possible  —  and  no  hard  feelings,"  he 
added,  giving  me  his  hand. 

As  I  went  toward  the  Doctor's  tent,  my  intense  distaste  for 
the  work  offered  me  seemed  to  lessen.  Perhaps  the  night  air 
had  some  effect  on  me ;  perhaps  the  general's  parting  words 
had  soothed  me  ;  perhaps  the  mystery  attaching  to  the  council 
of  war,  so  to  speak,  had  exaggerated  my  fears  at  first,  and  now 
calmness  had  set  in ;  at  any  rate,  before  I  had  reached  the 
Doctor  I  was  beginning  to  sympathize  with  General  Morell, 
whose  responsibility  was  so  great,  and  whose  evident  desire  to 
conciliate  had  touched  me,  and  was  wishing  that  I  could  have 
served  him.  Then,  too,  the  question  came  to  me  what  would 
General  Morell  do  in  case  my  refusal  was  final  ?  And  I  had 
little  doubt  that  the  correct  reply  was  ;  He  will  command  me. 
And,  in  that  case,  our  relationship  would  be  weakened  unneces- 
sarily ;  better  go  willingly  than  seem  to  go  sullenly.  Yet,  with 
all  this,  I  had  resolved  that  if  any  escape  from  this  frightful 
duty  should  be  presented,  if  any  possible  substitute  could  occur 
to  the  general's  mind,  or  if,  by  any  means,  the  bitter  extreme 
of  mental  suffering,  and  even  —  I  admitted  it  to  myself — of 
mental  danger,  could  be  avoided,  I  should  not  consent  to  serve. 

To  speak  of  this  subject  to  Dr.  Khayme  would  give  me  no 


240  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

embarrassment ;  I  was  sure  of  liis  full  sympathy ;  but  I  was 
hampered  by  a  doubt  as  to  how  much  I  should  tell  him  of  the 
necessity  which  prompted  the  demand  for  my  work.  The 
three  generals  had  spoken  of  important  matters  before  me,  or 
at  least  hinted  at  them,  and  General  Morell  had  been  still 
more  communicative.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  say  nothing  of 
these  matters  to  the  Doctor. 

When  I  reached  the  tent  I  found  my  old  master  yet  busy  at 
his  writing.  As  I  entered  he  looked  up  at  me,  and  immedi- 
ately rose  from  his  seat. 

"  You  have  been  tried,"  said  he ;  "  lie  down  and  rest." 

He  sat  by  me  and  felt  my  pulse.  Then  he  said,  "  You  will 
do ;  it  is  only  a  momentary  unsteadiness." 

Yet,  if  ever  I  saw  alarm  in  any  one's  eyes,  that  feeling  was 
then  in  Dr.  Khayme's. 

I  had  said  nothing ;  I  now  started  to  speak,  but  the  Doctor 
placed  a  finger  on  my  lips,  saying,  "  Not  yet ;  I'll  do  the  talk- 
ing for  both  of  us." 

He  rose  and  brought  me  water,  and  I  drank. 

Then  he  sat  by  me  again,  and  said,  "  The  fight  which  one 
must  make  with  his  will  against  impulse  is  not  easy,  especially 
with  some  natures ;  and  a  single  defeat  makes  the  fight  harder. 
To  yield  once  is  to  become  weaker,  and  to  make  it  easy  to  yield." 

I  understood.  He  could  read  me.  He  knew  my  weakness. 
How  he  knew  I  could  not  know ;  nor  did  I  care.  He  was  a 
profound  soul ;  he  knew  the  mind  if  ever  yet  mere  man  knew 
mind ;  he  could  read  what  was  going  on  in  the  mind  by  the 
language  of  the  features  and  the  body.  Especially  did  he 
know  me.  But  possibly  his  knowledge  was  only  general ;  he 
might  infer,  from  apparent  symptoms,  that  some  mental  trouble 
was  now  pressing  hard  upon  me,  and,  without  knowing  the 
special  nature  of  the  trouble,  might  be  prescribing  the  exercise 
of  the  will  as  a  general  remedy.  Yet  it  mattered  nothing  to 
me,  at  the  moment,  I  thought,  how  he  knew. 

"  You  will  not  yield,"  said  he. 


THE  ACCURSED  NIGHT  241 

I  closed  my  eyes,  and  thought  of  Lydia,  and  of  my  father, 
and  of  Willis,  and  of  Jones,  and  of  nothing  connectedly. 

"Do  you  remember,"  he  asked,  "the  first  time  you  came 
with  me  to  the  little  cottage  in  Charleston  ?  " 

I  nodded. 

"  At  that  time  you  were  passing  a  crisis.  I  would  not  tell 
you  to  will.     Do  you  remember  it  ?  " 

Again  I  nodded  assent. 

"  To  will  at  another's  dictation  is  impossible.  The  will  is 
free.  If  I  should  tell  you  to  will  any  certain  thing,  it  would 
do  no  good.     All  that  I  can  do  is  to  say  that  the  will  is  free." 

His  finger  was  yet  on  my  lips.  My  mind  had  taken  in  all 
that  he  said,  although  my  thought  was  giddy.  He  was  clearly 
right.  If  I  should  surrender  once,  it  would  be  hard  to  recover 
my  former  ground.  Yet  I  doubted  my  power  to  will.  The 
doubt  brought  terror.     I  wished  that  he  would  speak  again. 

"  The  power  of  habit  is  not  lost  in  a  moment.  It  may  be 
unobserved,  or  dormant  even,  but  it  is  not  destroyed.  No  man 
accustomed  to  keep  himself  in  subjection  can  fail  to  distin- 
guish temptation  from  surrender." 

How  well  he  could  read  me ! 

"The  desire  to  will  may  momentarily  fail  through  bodily  weak- 
ness, or  through  fear  —  which  is  the  same  thing.  But  he  who 
can  will  when  he  desires  to  will  not,  conquers  himself  doubly." 

I  put  his  hand  away  and  rose. 

"  What  time  is  it.  Doctor  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Half-past  ten,"  said  he,  without  looking  at  his  watch. 

"  I  must  report  to  General  Morell  at  eleven,"  I  said. 

"  We  must  not  waste  time,  then,"  he  said ;  "  who  accom- 
panies you  ?  " 

"  I  go  alone." 

He  looked  at  me  searchingly,  then  grasped  my  hand.  He 
understood. 

"  You  have  strengthened  your  will ;  good.  Now  I  will 
strengthen  your  body." 


242  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

He  went  to  a  small  chest,  from  which  he  took  a  flask.  He 
poured  a  spoonful  of  liquid  into  a  glass.     I  drank. 

"  It  will  be  slow  and  last  long,"  said  he. 

He  brought  me  the  gray  clothing  and  helped  me  to  dress ; 
lie  turned  the  pockets  of  my  blue  clothes  and  selected  such 
things  as  I  needed. 

"  Do  you  go  armed  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes;  apparently.     I  shall  take  the  Enfield  —  unloaded." 

He  brought  the  cartridge-box  and  the  canteen;  he  brought 
the  haversack,  and  put  food  in  it. 

Said  he,  "  I  wish  you  would  humour  one  of  my  whims." 

"  Anything  you  wish,  Doctor." 

"  Put  the  palmetto  buttons  on  your  coat." 

It  was  soon  done.     I  was  passive;  he  was  doing  the  work. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  *'  one  other  thing.  Take  this  pencil,  and 
this  book.     Turn  to  May  23d.     I  will  dictate." 

It  was  a  small  blank-book,  a  little  soiled,  with  the  pages 
divided  into  sections,  which  were  headed  with  dates  for  the 
year  1862. 

"  Turn  to  May  23d,"  lie  had  said. 

"  I  have  it,"  said  I. 

"  Read  the  date,"  said  he. 

"  Friday,  May  23,  1862." 

"  Now  write." 

The  Doctor  dictated;  I  wrote:  — 

"  Arrived  after  furlough.    Drilled  a.m.  and  p.m.     Weather  clear." 

"  Saturday,  May  24,  1862. 
"  On  camp  guard.     Letters  from  home.    Showers.    Marched  at  night." 


"Sunday,  May  25,  1862. 
"  Marched  all  day.     Bivouacked  in  woods  at  night." 

"Monday,  May  26,  1862^ 
"Marched  but  a  few  miles.    Day  very  hot.     Weather  bad.     Heavy 
rain  at  night." 

"Tuesday,  May  27,  18G2. 
"  Rain.     Heard  a  battle  ahead.     Marched  past  —  " 


THE  ACCURSED  NIGHT  243 

"What  brigade  was  that  you  saw  at  Hanover  Court-House?" 
the  Doctor  asked. 

"  Branch's." 

"Yes,  Branch's;  write,  'Marched  past  Branch's  brigade, 
that  had  been  fighting.'  " 

Then  the  Doctor  said :  "  Now  turn  to  the  fly-leaf  of  the  book 
and  write"  —  he  paused  a  moment  —  "simply  write  Jones. 
Here  —  turn  the  book  lengthwise,  and  write  Jones." 

I  wrote  Jones  —  lengthwise  the  book. 

"Wait,"  said  he;  "put  a  capital  B." 

I  put  a  capital  B  after  Jones. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  he. 

I  showed  him  the  book. 

"No,"  said  he;  "erase  that  B  and  put  another  one  before 
Jones." 

"  Have  you  an  eraser  ?  " 

"  I'll  get  one." 

The  B  after  Jones  was  erased,  leaving  a  dark  splotch.  I 
wrote  B.  before  Jones. 

"  We  must  get  that  dark  spot  out,"  said  he. 

He  took  the  book  and  very  carefully  tore  out  part  of  the 
leaf,  so  that  there  remained  only  B.  Jones  and  the  part  of  the 
fly-leaf  above  the  writing. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  put  that  in  your  pocket." 

"What  is  all  this  for.  Doctor?  " 

"  For  a  purpose.  Keep  it  in  your  pocket ;  it  may  serve  to 
protect  you." 

"  What  time  is  it.  Doctor  ?  " 

"  Ten  minutes  to  eleven." 

"  I  must  go." 

He  said  no  word ;  but  he  put  up  his  hands  to  my  face,  and 
made  me  bend  to  him,  and  kissed  me. 

******* 

Before  midnight  one  of  General  IMorell's  orderlies  had 
passed  me  through  our  cavalry  pickets  beyond  Mechanicsville. 


244  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

The  Doctor's  stimulant,  or  something  else,  gave  me  strength. 
My  mind  was  clear  and  my  will  firm.  True,  I  felt  indifferent 
to  life  ;  but  the  lesson  which  the  Doctor  had  given  me  I  had 
clearly  understood,  and  I  had  voluntarily  turned  the  die  for 
duty  after  it  had  been  cast  for  ease.  All  my  hesitation  had 
gone,  leaving  in  its  place  disgust  kept  down  by  effort,  but  kept 
down.  I  wanted  nothing  in  life.  Nothing  ?  Yes,  nothing  ;  I 
had  desire,  but  knew  it  unattainable,  and  renounced  its  object. 
I  would  not  hope  for  a  happiness  that  might  bring  ruin  on 
another. 

To  die  in  the  work  begun  this  night  seemed  to  me  appro- 
priate ;  life  at  the  present  rate  was  worse  than  worthless. 
Yet  I  had  not  yielded  to  this  feeling  even  ;  I  would  be  prudent 
and  would  accomplish  what  was  hoped  for,  if  my  strength 
should  serve. 

In  General  Morell's  tent  I  had  been  offered  a  lieutenant's 
commission,  —  a  blank  fully  signed  and  ready  to  fill,  but  had 
rejected  it,  through  vanity  perhaps  —  the  vanity  that  told  me 
to  first  perform  a  duty  for  which  the  honour  had  been  soothingly 
offered. 

My  plans  —  I  had  no  plans.     I  had  started. 

What  was  the  weather  when  I  started  that  night  ?  I  do 
not  know.  I  was  making  for  the  swamp ;  I  would  go  to  the 
swamp  ;  I  would  look  for  an  opportunity  —  that  was  all. 

The  swamp  was  soon  around  me.  I  filed  right.  I  found 
mire  and  bush,  and  many  obstacles.  The  obstacles  stirred  my 
reason.  To  follow  every  crook  of  this  winding  stream  was 
absurd.  I  came  out  of  the  swamp  and  began  to  skirt  its  edge. 
I  looked  toward  my  right  —  the  northeast ;  the  sky  reflected 
a  dim  glow  from  many  dying  camp-fires.  I  could  see  how  the 
low  swamp's  edge  bent  in  and  out,  and  how  I  could  make  a 
straighter  course  than  the  river.  In  some  places  a  path  was 
found.  Our  pickets  were  supposed  to  be  on  the  edge  of  the 
hills  behind  me. 

My  course  was  northwestward.     I  crossed  two  roads  which 


THE  ACCURSED  NIGHT  245 

ran  at  right  angles  to  my  course  and  probably  entered  Rich- 
mond. On  each  of  them  successively  1  advanced  until  I  could 
see  a  bridge,  upon  which  I  knew  it  would  not  be  safe  to  ven- 
ture, for  it  was  no  doubt  held  by  the  Confederates.  I  contin- 
ued up  the  stream,  approaching  it  at  times  to  see  if  it  had 
narrowed. 

About  two  miles,  I  supposed,  from  our  cavalry  vedettes,  I 
crossed  a  railroad.  On  the  other  side  I  turned  southward. 
The  ground  was  covered  with  dense  undergrowth  and  immense 
trees,  and  was  soft  and  slippery  from  recent  high  water.  My 
progress  was  soon  interrupted  by  a  stream,  floAving  sluggishly 
to  my  left.  I  sought  a  crossing.  The  stream  was  not  deep, 
but  the  slippery  banks  gave  me  great  difficulty  in  the  darkness. 
The  water  came  to  my  waist;  on  the  further  side  were  hollows 
filled  with  standing  water  left  by  the  freshet.  I  had  crossed 
the  main  branch  of  the  Chickahominy. 

Within  a  mile  I  expected  to  find  Brook  Run,  behind  which 
it  was  supposed  the  Confederate  left  extended,  and  where  I  must 
exercise  the  greatest  care  lest  I  run  foul  of  some  vedette. 
How  to  avoid  stumbling  on  one  of  them  in  the  darkness,  was 
a  problem.  Very  likely  they  were  placed  from  a  hundred  to 
two  hundred  yards  apart,  and  near  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
if  practicable,  especially  at  night,  for  the  stream  itself  would 
not  only  be  their  protection,  but  also,  by  its  difficulty  and  its 
splashing,  would  betray  any  force  which  should  attempt  to 
cross  to  the  south  side. 

But  I  found  the  creek  very  crooked,  and  I  considered  that  a 
line  of  vedettes,  two  hundred  yards  apart  by  the  course  of  the 
stream,  would  require  probably  a  man  to  every  fifty  yards  in  a 
direct  line,  and  such  a  line  of  vedettes  could  not  well  be  main- 
tained constantly  —  never  is  maintained,  I  think,  unless  an 
enemy's  approach  is  momentarily  feared,  in  which  case  you 
frequently  have  no  vedettes  at  all.  Following  up  this  thought 
I  concluded  that  the  vedettes  were,  most  likely,  watching 
their  front  from  the  inner  bends  of  the  stream,  and  that,  at 


246  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

a  bend  which  had  its  convex  side  toward  the  north,  was  my 
opportunity. 

I  was  not  long  in  finding  such  a  bend.  And  now  my  caution 
became  very  great,  and  my  advance  very  slow.  The  bank 
sloped,  but  was  almost  completely  hidden  in  the  darkness.  I 
could  not  see  the  edge  of  the  water. 

Lying  flat,  I  thrust  the  butt  of  my  gun  ahead  of  me,  and 
moved  it  up  and  down  and  right  and  left,  trying  the  inequali- 
ties of  the  ground.  To  make  no  sound  required  the  very 
greatest  care;  a  slip  of  an  inch  might  have  caused  a  loud 
splash. 

Slowly  I  gained  ground  until  I  reached  the  water,  and  stood 
in  it  to  my  knees.  I  listened  —  not  a  sound.  I  slowly  moved 
forward,  raising  my  foot  not  an  inch  from  the  muddy  bottom, 
straining  eye  and  ear  to  note  the  slightest  sign  of  danger.  The 
water  deepened  to  my  middle. 

I  crawled  up  the  further  bank.  Again  I  lent  ear.  Nothing. 
I  crawled  forward  for  fifty  yards  or  more,  hoping,  rather  than 
believing,  that  I  was  keeping  halfway  between  the  sides  of  the 
bend. 

I  rested  a  while,  for  such  work  is  very  hard.  Before  a 
minute  had  passed  I  heard  a  noise  — •  and  another :  one  at  my 
right,  the  other  at  my  left.  The  sounds  were  repeated.  I 
knew  what  they  meant  —  the  vedette  on  either  side  of  me  was 
being  relieved.  My  course  had  been  right  —  I  was  midway 
between  two  sentinels. 

How  to  get  through  the  picket-line  ahead  of  me  ?  I  rea- 
soned that  the  pickets  were  not  in  the  swamp,  but  on  the  edge 
of  the  hills.  Lying  there  between  the  two  vedettes  I  imag- 
ined a  plan.  I  knew  that  a  picket-line  is  relieved  early  in  the 
day  when  troops  are  in  position,  as  tlie  armies  were  now.  If 
I  could  see  the  relief  coming,  I  would  show  myself  just  at  the 
time  it  arrived,  hoping  that  each  party  would  take  me  to  belong 
to  the  other. 

But  suppose  I  should  not  see  the  relieving  company,  or  sup- 


THE  ACCURSED  NIGHT  247 

pose  any  one  of  a  thousand  things  should  at  the  last  moment 
make  my  plan  impracticable,  what  then  ? 

I  saw  that  I  must  have  some  other  plan  to  fall  back  on ;  I 
would  make  some  other  plan  as  I  crawled  forward. 

At  what  moment  should  I  strike  the  line  of  Confederate 
pickets  ?  That  the  country  outside  was  in  their  cavalry  lines 
I  well  knew,  and  I  hoped  that  for  this  reason  their  infantry 
would  be  less  watchful ;  but  this  thought  did  not  make  me  any 
the  less  prudent  and  slow  in  my  advance.  I  had  easily  suc- 
ceeded in  passing  the  vedettes ;  to  avoid  the  vedette  reliefs 
might  not  be  easy. 

When  I  reached  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  daylight  was  just 
beginning  to  show.  Could  I  hope  to  remain  long  between 
vedettes  and  pickets  '?  Impossible.  But  impossible  is  a  strong 
word,  I  thought.  Why  not  climb  ?  Trees  were  all  around 
me ;  I  might  easily  hide  in  the  thick  boughs  of  a  cedar  near 
by.  But  that  would  do  me  no  good ;  at  least,  it  could  do 
no  good  unless  in  case  of  sudden  necessity.  I  must  get 
through  the  picket-line ;  outside  I  could  do  nothing.  Once 
in  rear  of  the  Confederate  pickets,  I  should  have  little  or 
no  trouble  in  remaining  for  days  in  the  camps  and  in  the 
main  lines ;  getting  through  was  the  difficulty.  Daylight  was 
increasing. 

Had  it  taken  me  two  hours  to  crawl  from  the  line  of  vedettes 
to  this  edge  of  the  swamp  ?  The  question  rose  in  my  mind 
from  seeing  a  relief  come  down  the  hill  at  my  right;  two  men, 
supposably  a  non-commissioned  officer  and  a  private,  were  going 
to  pass  in  fifty  yards  of  me.  I  let  them  pass.  They  went  into 
the  swamp.  Eive  minutes  later  two  men  returned  by  the  same 
route,  or  almost  so,  but  came  a  little  nearer  to  me ;  I  saw  them 
coming  and  felt  for  my  glass,  but  did  not  find  it.  I  supposed 
that  Dr.  Khayme  had  forgotten  to  put  it  in  my  haversack. 
Yet  the  men  —  no  doubt  the  same  non-commissioned  officer, 
with  the  private  he  had  just  relieved  from  duty  as  a  vedette  — 
passed  so  near  me  that  I  could  distinctly  see  their  dress,  and 


248  WHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

could  note  its  worn  and  bedraggled  appearance.  These  men 
had  seen  hard  service,  evidently. 

Five  minutes  more  passed.  The  east  was  aglow  with  day. 
Two  men  at  ray  left  were  now  coming  down  the  hill.  They 
passed  into  the  swamp.  These  men  wore  uniforms  fresh  and 
clean. 

The  thought  came  upon  me  at  once  that  I  had  passed  between 
two  vedettes  belonging  to  different  regiments.  I  cast  about 
for  some  way  to  take  advantage  of  this  circumstance,  but 
racked  my  brains  to  no  purpose.  Finally,  however,  an  odd 
idea  was  born.  Could  I  not  go  back  to  the  vedettes,  and  talk 
to  either  the  right  or  the  left  man  of  the  connecting  line  ? 
He  would  probably  think  that  I  belonged  to  the  command 
joining  his.  No  doubt  I  could  do  this ;  but  what  should  I 
gain  ?     I  should  merely  be  losing  time. 

Then  another  idea  came.  Could  I  not  post  myself  as  a  Con- 
federate vedette  between  the  connecting  men  ?  But  for  what  ? 
Even  if  I  could  do  so  there  was  no  profit  in  this  romantic  idea. 
I  gave  it  up. 

Yet  I  must  do  something.  I  considered  the  chances  of  going 
forward  boldly,  walking  straight  between  two  pits,  and  on  up 
the  hill.  The  pickets  would  see  that  I  was  a  Confederate.  If 
I  could  strike  between  the  connecting  pits  of  the  two  com- 
mands, the  thing  might  be  done.     Yet  I  wanted  a  better  way. 

Before  the  second  relief  had  returned  I  was  hidden  in  the 
boughs  of  a  tree.  The  corporal  and  a  man  passed  back  as 
they  had  come.  They  were  talking,  but  I  could  not  hear  what 
they  said. 

I  watched  them  from  the  tree.  A  gully  was  in  front  of  me, 
a  large  gully,  only  in  parts  visible  from  my  position ;  it  seemed 
to  be  on  their  route.  The  two  men  became  hidden  by  this 
gully.  I  saw  them  no  more.  My  interest  was  excited.  Why 
had  the  men  gone  into  this  gully  ?  There  was  smoother  ground 
outside.     They  had  a  purpose ;  I  must  find  it  out. 

Until  the  next  relief  should  come  I  was  comparatively  safe. 


THE  ACCURSED  NIGHT  249 

I  was  on  neutral  ground,  or  unobserved  ground,  for  an  hour  at 
least.     I  could  not  know  whether  the  reliefs  came  as  ordinarily 

—  once  every  two  hours.  There  would  probably  be  nobody 
passing  between  vedettes  and  pickets  —  unless,  indeed,  some 
officer  should  go  the  rounds  of  the  sentinels ;  that  was  some- 
thing I  must  risk. 

I  came  down  from  the  tree  and  cautiously  approached  the 
mouth  of  the  gully.  I  climbed  another  tree,  from  which  I 
had  a  better  view.  I  could  now  see  that  the  gully  extended 
far  up  the  hill,  and  I  suspected  that  the  picket-line  stretched 
across  it;  but  there  was  no  indication  of  the  purpose  which 
had  caused  the  men  to  go  into  the  gully.  My  position  was  a 
good  one,  and  I  waited.     I  could  see  a  part  of  the  picket-line 

—  that  is,  not  the  men,  but  the  rifle-pits. 

Ten  minutes  went  by.  Coming  down  the  hill  from  the  right 
in  an  oblique  direction  toward  the  gully,  I  saw  an  unarmed 
rebel.  He  disappeared.  He  had  gone  down  into  this  gully, 
which,  I  was  now  confident,  separated  by  its  width  the  pickets 
of  different  commands.  What  could  this  unarmed  man  be 
doing  in  the  gully  ?  Nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  wait ;  I  was 
hoping  that  an  opportunity  had  been  found. 

Soon  I  saw  another  man  coming  down  toward  the  gully ;  he 
was  coming  from  the  other  side  —  the  left;  he  was  armed. 
At  nearly  the  same  instant  the  unarmed  man  reappeared ;  his 
back  was  toward  me ,  he  held  his  canteen  in  his  hand.  The 
situation  was  clear ;  there  was  water  in  the  gully ;  my  oppor- 
tunity had  come. 

I  came  down  from  the  tree.  Almost  an  hour  would  be  mine 
before  the  vedettes  were  relieved.  Cautiously  I  made  my  way 
to  the  mouth  of  the  gully.  I  lay  flat  and  watched.  A  man 
was  climbing  the  side  of  the  gully ;  he  was  going  to  the  left ; 
he  was  armed  —  doubtless  the  man  I  had  seen  a  moment 
before.  I  went  into  the  gully.  I  must  get  to  that  spring  or 
pool,  or  whatever  it  was,  before  another  man  should  come. 

Before  the  man  had  reached  the  picket-line,  I  was  at  the 


250  WHO  GOES   THEEE  ? 

spring  —  and  it  was  a  good  one,  at  least  for  that  swamp.  A 
little  hollow  had  been  made  by  digging  with  bayonets,  per- 
haps, or  with  the  hands,  on  one  side  of  the  gully,  just  where  a 
huge  bulk  of  unfallen  earth  would  protect  the  hole  from  the 
midday  sun,  the  only  sun  which  could  reach  the  bottom  of  this 
ravine,  defended  by  its  wall  on  either  hand.  The  hole  was  so 
small  that  only  one  canteen  could  be  filled  at  a  time ;  but  the 
water  was  good  compared  with  that  of  the  Chickahominy. 
Doubtless  it  was  the  difficulty  of  gettin;^^  pure  water  that 
justified  the  relaxation  of  discipline  which  permitted  the  men 
to  have  recourse  to  this  spring  in  rear  of  their  vedette  lines. 

Canteen  in  hand,  I  sat  down  by  the  spring.  Fully  three 
minutes  I  sat  and  waited.  Seeing  how  muddy  I  was,  I  took 
out  my  knife  and  began  scraping  the  mud  from  my  shoes  and 
clothing. 

I  heard  a  step  I  put  my  canteen  into  the  water  and  held 
it  down  with  one  hand,  continuing  to  scrape  mud  with  the 
other. 

"  Fill  mine,  too,"  said  a  voice. 

I  did  not  look  up. 

"  Ain't  this  a  swamp  to  read  about  ?  Did  you  ever  see  the 
likes  o'  musquitoes  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  see  'em,"  said  I ;  "  supposin'  you  mean  whilst  I 
was  on  vydette." 

He  laughed.  "  Bet  you  had  to  fight  'em,  though.  Say  — 
you  won't  git  that  mud  off  that-away ;  let  it  dry." 

I  did  not  reply.  He  was  standing  almost  over  me,  upon  a 
sort  of  shelf  in  the  side  of  the  gully,  as  there  was  not  room  at 
the  water  for  more  than  one  man. 

"  Gimme  your  canteen,"  said  I. 

He  handed  it  to  me.  It  was  a  bright  new  tin  canteen  of  the 
cheap  Confederate  make  —  uncovered.  I  knew  at  once  that 
this  man  belonged  to  the  fresh  regiment.  The  old  Confed- 
erates had  supplied  themselves,  from  battlefields  aud  prisoners, 
and  the  greater  capture  of  stores,  with  good. Union  canteens. 


TPIE  ACCURSED  NIGHT  251 

Evert  while  I  was  thinking  this,  he  said,  *'  What'll  you  take 
to  boot  'twixt  your  canteen  and  mine  ?  " 

"  Don't  want  to  swap,"  said  I. 

I  filled  his  canteen. 

''  Now,  gimme  your  hand,"  said  I. 

He  held  out  his  hand,  which  I  grasped,  and  he  pulled  hard ; 
it  took  two  pulls  to  bring  me  to  his  side.  I  did  not  look  at 
him,  but  knew  that  he  was  a  small  man. 

He  turned  away.  I  followed  him.  I  could  see  that  his 
uniform  was  new.  We  reached  the  edge  of  the  gully,  and 
stood  still. 

Now  I  could  see  the  pits.  The  gully  was  deeper  up  the  hill. 
There  was  a  pit  on  either  edge  of  the  gully,  which  was  about 
forty  feet  wide.  Had  I  known  of  the  existence  of  that  gully, 
I  could  have  stolen  through  the  picket-line  in  the  night  —  but 
perhaps  they  had  it  guarded  at  night. 

"  Say,"  said  my  companion,  "  why  didn't  you  go  back  on 
your  own  side  ?  " 

"  Ask  me  no  questions,  and  I'll  tell  you  no  lies,"  said  I. 

He  was  two  steps  ahead  of  me  —  a  man  of  small  stature. 
His  shoes  and  his  clothing  up  to  his  knees  were  almost  as 
muddy  as  mine.  He  walked  slowly  up  the  hill.  In  a  very 
few  minutes  we  should  be  within  the  picket-line ;  it  took  all 
my  will  to  preserve  composure ;  I  was  glad  the  man  was  in 
front  of  me.     We  stepped  slowly  up  the  hill. 

I  could  see  nobody  at  the  pits.  The  pickets  were  lying 
down,  probably,  half  of  them  asleep,  the  other  half  awake  but 
at  ease.  I  was  wishing  my  leader  would  speak  again.  The 
nervous  tension  was  hard.  What  should  I  do  when  we  reached 
the  line  ?  I  had  no  plan,  except  to  walk  on.  I  wished  my 
leader  would  continue  to  march,  and  go  past  the  pits  —  then  I 
could  follow  him ;  the  trivial  suggestion  aroused  self -contempt ; 
I  was  thinking  of  straws  to  catch  at.  I  must  strengthen  my 
will. 

He  had  made  four  steps ;  he  said,  "  Sun's  up." 


252  WHO   GOES   THEKE  ? 

This  was  not  much  of  an  opening.  I  managed  to  respond, 
"  Don't  see  it,  myself." 

"  Look  at  that  big  pine  up  yonder,"  said  he. 

"  Be  another  hot  day,"  said  I ;  "  wish  I  was  up  there." 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  So  I  could  get  some  sleep." 

"  You  won't  git  any  down  here  in  this  old  field ;  that's  shore." 

"That's  what's  a-troublin'  me,"  said  I;  "and  I've  got  to  take 
care  of  myself." 

"  Ben  sick  ?  " 

"No,  not  down  sick;  but  the  hot  sun  don't  do  me  any 
good." 

"  Bilious,  I  reckon,"  said  he. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  not  bilious ;  it's  my  head." 

"  Bet  I'd  go  to  the  surgeon,  then,  ef  it  was  me,"  he  said. 

"  Wish  I  could  see  the  Doctor,"  I  replied,  spelling  the  word, 
mentally,  with  a  capital. 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  tell  your  captain  to  let  you  go  back  ?  " 

"  You  don't  know  my  captain,"  said  I. 

"  Hard  on  you,  is  he  ?  " 

"  Well,  hard  ain't  the  word ;  but  I  wouldn't  risk  asking  him 
out  here." 

"  Bet  I'd  go,  anyhow,  ef  it  was  me,"  said  he. 

"  If  he  should  see  me  going,  know  what  he'd  do  ?  " 

"What?" 

"  Send  a  man  after  me." 

"Well,  you  jest  come  along  with  me.  Bet  our  men  won't 
stop  you;  you  don't  belong  to  themJ' 

This  was  just  what  I  wanted ;  but  I  was  afraid  to  show  any 
eagerness.  We  were  almost  at  the  picket-line,  and  I  had  no 
doubt  that  my  friend  was  marching  straight  toward  his  own 
rifle-pit ;  he  was  surely  on  the  left  of  his  company  —  he  was 
such  a  small  man. 

"  Stop,"  said  I. 

He  halted,  and  turned  to  me.    He  was  a  good-looking  young 


THE  ACCUESED  NIGHT  253 

fellow.  He  had  the  palmetto  button  on  his  coat.  Our  eyes 
met. 

"  You  won't  give  me  away  ?  "  I  said. 

"  What  do  you  take  me  for  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  you're  all  right ;  but  if  you  should  happen  to  say  any- 
thing to  anybody,  it  might  get  out.  If  you  won't  tell  any  of 
your  men,  I'll  go." 

"  Oh,  come  along ;  you  needn't  be  af eared  of  my  tellin'  on 
you.  I  don't  know  your  name,  and  —  not  to  cause  hard  f eelin's 
—  I  don't  want  to  know  it ;  come  on." 

He  stopped  at  the  pit  on  the  edge  of  the  gully.  I  passed  on. 
I  saw  men  lying,  sitting,  and  a  very  few  standing  down  the 
line  at  some  of  the  other  pits.  I  heard  no  talk.  The  men  at 
the  pit  where  my  friend  had  halted  did  not  speak  to  him. 
There  was  nothing  to  cause  them  to  speak.  He  handed 
his  canteen  to  one  of  the  men ;  even  this  man  did  not  speak; 
he  drank. 

I  walked  up  the  hill,  going  straight  toward  the  big  pine. 
The  sun  itself  could  now  be  seen.  What  I  have  narrated  had 
not  taken  five  minutes,  for  the  pits  were  not  more  than  a  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  edge  of  the  swamp. 

Now,  once  out  of  sight  of  the  picket-line,  I  should  feel  safe. 
How  far  in  the  rear  the  Confederate  fortifications  were,  I  could 
not  yet  tell  —  but  that  mattered  little ;  I  should  have  no  fears 
when  I  reached  them. 

As  long  as  I  thought  it  possible  that  I  could  be  seen  from 
the  pits  I  went  toward  the  big  pine  ;  soon  I  knew  that  I  was 
hidden  by  bushes,  and  I  went  as  rapidly  as  I  could  walk  in  a 
southeast  direction  for  nearly  an  hour.  I  passed  in  full  sight 
of  the  picket-line  in  many  places,  and  fortifications  far  to  my 
right  could  be  seen  upon  the  hills.  My  purpose  was  to  enter 
the  main  Confederate  intrenchments  as  nearly  as  possible  oppo- 
site New  Bridge  —  opposite  the  position  from  which  I  had 
started  on  the  night  before. 

The  sun  was  an  hour  high.     I  had  come  three  miles,  I 


254  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

thought ;  I  sat  in  a  shady  place  and  endeavoured  to  think  what 
course  was  best.  I  believed  I  had  come  far  enough.  I  had 
nothing  to  do  but  go  forward.  I  could  see  parts  of  fortifi- 
cations. Ko  one  would  think  of  hindering  my  entrance.  I 
would  go  into  the  lines  ;  then  I  would  turn  to  the  right  and 
follow  out  my  instructions. 

Again  I  started,  and  reached  the  brow  of  the  hill ;  it  was 
entirely  bare  of  trees.  Three  or  four  hundred  yards  in  front 
were  lines  of  earthworks.  I  did  not  pause  ;  I  went  straight 
ahead. 

A  body  of  men  marched  out  of  the  breastworks  —  about 
a  company,  I  thought.  They  were  marching  forward ;  their 
line  of  march  would  bring  them  near  me.  I  held  my  course. 
I  judged  that  the  company  was  some  regiment's  picket  for  the 
next  twenty-four  hours  ;  they  were  going  to  relieve  the  last 
night's  pickets. 

The  last  man  of  the  company  had  hardly  appeared :  sud- 
denly I  heard  a  cannon  roar,  apparently  from  a  Federal  bat- 
tery almost  directl}^  in  my  rear,  and  at  the  instant  a  shell 
had  shrieked  far  above  my  head. 

At  once  the  Confederates  replied.  I  did  not  think  that  I 
was  in  any  danger,  as  the  shells  went  high  in  the  air  in  order 
to  attain  their  object  on  the  other  side  of  the  Chickahominy. 

The  company  of  infantry  had  countermarched,  and  was 
again  behind  the  line  of  earthworks. 

I  looked  around  for  shelter  from  the  Federal  cannon ; 
although  the  shells  went  high,  it  Avould  be  folly  for  me  to  go 
forward  into  the  place  of  danger.  The  hill  was  bare.  There 
was  no  depression,  no  tree,  no  fence,  nothing  but  the  open 
wind-swept  hill  —  desolate  and  bare.  I  was  on  this  bare 
hill. 

A  man  passed  me  from  the  rear.  He  was  armed.  He,  too, 
like  myself,  had  no  doubt  come  from  the  picket-line. 

"  Better  leg  it !  "  he  cried  —  and  I  legged  it  with  him,  mak- 
ing for  the  breastworks. 


THE   ACCURSED  NIGHT  255 

The  shells  from  the  rear  seemed  to  fly  over  at  a  less  height. 

One  of  the  shells  burst  over  my  head. 

Suddenly  I  saw  my  companion  throw  up  one  hand  —  his 
left  hand  —  with  great  violence,  and  fall  flat ;  hardly  was  I 
conscious  that  I  saw  him  fall ;  at  the  instant  there  was  a  deaf- 
ening noise,  and  I  was  conscious  of  nothing. 


XX 

THE    MASK    OF    IGNORANCE 

"  I  am  mainly  ignorant 
What  place  this  is  ;  and  all  the  skill  I  have 
Kemembers  not  these  garments  ;  nor  I  know  not 
Where  I  did  lodge  last  night."  —  Shakespeare. 

"Who  is  it?" 

"  Don't  know." 

My  head  pained  me.  I  opened  my  eyes.  The  blue  sky  was 
over  me  now.  A  gently  swaying  motion  lifted  and  lowered 
me. 

"  Hurt  bad  ?  " 

"  Head  mashed." 

"  Anybody  else  ?  " 

"  One  more,  and  he's  gone  !  " 

I  could  not  see  the  speakers.  ...  I  tried  to  turn  my  head, 
but  could  not. 

I  turned  my  eyes  to  the  right,  then  to  my  left ;  the  motion 
of  my  eyes  threatened  to  break  something  in  my  head. 

I  saw  nothing  but  the  trees,  which  seemed  to  move  back 
slowly,  and  to  become  larger  and  smaller. 

Great  thirst  consumed  me.      I  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not. 

The  swaying  motion  continued.  The  trees  rose  and  fell  and 
went  by.    The  blue  sky  was  over  me.     I  did  not  stir. 

How  long  this  lasted  I  did  not  know.  I  was  hardly  con- 
scious that  I  was  conscious. 

I  heard  a  word  now  and  then :  "  Look  out  there  !  "  "  Hold 
on  !  "     "  Wait  a  second ! " 

256 


THE  MASK   OF  IGNORANCE  257 

A  moment  before,  I  had  walked  out  of  tlie  hotel  among  the 
pines  .  .  .  these  are  not  pines  ;  they  are  oaks.  A  moment 
before,  the  night  sky  had  been  overcast  with  rain-clouds  .  .  . 
now  the  sky  is  blue  over  my  head,  and  the  sun  is  hot.  My 
head  whirs  with  pain  and  fear  —  fear  of  insanity.  I  have 
been  hurt ;  I  have  been  unconscious  ...  I  cannot  recollect 
what  hurt  me.  .  .  . 

But  no ;  there  was  no  mental  danger,  for  my  senses  were 
returning.  I  could  feel  that  I  was  being  borne,  in  a  way 
unknown  to  me,  by  some  unknown  men.  I  could  not  see  the 
men,  but  I  could  hear  them  step,  —  sometimes  very  clumsily, 
causing  me  renewed  pain,  —  and  I  could  hear  them  speak,  and 
breathe  heavily. 

Now  I  thought  I  could  see  tents,  and  great  fear  came  on 
me. 

We  passed  between  objects  like  tents,  and  went  on ;  we 
were  in  a  field,  or  some  open  space ;  I  could  see  no  trees. 
Then  I  heard,  or  thought  I  heard,  a  voice  cry  out  strange 
syllables,  "  Hep  !  Hep !  Hep  ! "  —  and  again,  "  Hep !  Hep ! 
Hep ! " 

Well,  well  .  .  .  this  is  a  dream ;  I'll  soon  wake  up ;  but  it 
is  vivid  while  it  lasts. 

Yet  the  strange  dream  continued.  How  long  had  I  been 
dreaming  ?  I  dreamed  that  the  men  came  to  a  stop.  They 
lowered  me  to  the  ground. 

I  looked  at  them.  They  were  looking  at  me.  Their  faces 
were  strange.  They  were  dirty.  They  were  clothed  alike.  I 
'jlosed  my  eyes.     I  tried  to  think. 

"  There  he  goes  again,"  said  a  voice. 

I  felt  a  hand  on  my  wrist.  I  opened  my  eyes.  I  saw  a 
face  bending  over  me.  The  face  rose.  It  was  a  good  face. 
This  man's  head  was  bare.  He  had  spectacles.  He  was  not 
dirty. 

"  Bring  him  in,"  said  the  man  with  the  good  face. 

I  was  lifted  again.     I  was  taken  into  a  tent  .  .  .  certainly 


258  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

a  tent.  There  were  low  beds  in  the  tent  —  pallets  on  the 
ground.     There  were  forms  on  the  beds. 

The  men  laid  me  on  a  bed.  They  straightened  my  limbs. 
Then  one  of  them  raised  me  from  behind,  and  another  took  off 
my  coat,  or  I  supposed  so,  though  I  did  not  clearly  see.  Then 
they  went  away. 

I  was  thirsty.  I  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not  speak.  The 
man  with  the  spectacles  came  to  me.  He  said:  "I  am  going 
to  dress  your  head.     You  are  not  hurt  badly." 

My  head  was  paining  me,  then,  because  I  had  been  hurt  ? 
Yes,  that  must  be  true.  If  this  was  a  dream,  this  part  of  it 
was  not  unreasonable.     The  man  went  away. 

But  did  I  ever  have  such  a  nightmare  before  ?  I  had  sup- 
posed that  people  awoke  before  they  were  hurt. 

The  man  came  again.  He  brought  a  bowl  of  water  and  a 
spoon.  He  raised  my  head,  and  put  a  spoonful  of  water  to 
my  lips.     I  tried  to  open  my  mouth,  but  could  not. 

He  called,  "  William  !  "  A  negro  man  came.  The  negro 
took  my  head  in  his  hands.  The  man  with  the  spectacles 
opened  my  mouth,  and  put  water  into  it.  I  swallowed.  Then 
he  put  the  bowl  to  my  lips  and  I  drank.     Both  went  away. 

The  man  with  the  spectacles  came  again.  I  could  see  scis- 
sors in  his  hand.  He  turned  me  so  that  I  lay  on  my  side. 
He  began  to  hurt  me  ;  I  groaned. 

"  I  won't  be  long  about  it,"  he  said ;  "  I  am  only  cutting 
your  hair  a  little,  so  that  I  can  get  at  you." 

Then  I  felt  my  head  getting  cold  —  wet,  I  thought ;  then  I 
felt  my  head  get  warm ;  soon  I  was  turned  again,  and  lay  on 
my  back. 

"  Now,"  said  the  man,  "  I'll  give  you  some  more  water  if 
you'll  promise  to  go  to  sleep." 

I  could  not  promise,  though  I  wanted  the  water,  and  wanted 
to  go  to  sleep  so  that  this  strange  dream  might  be  ended. 
Then  I  laughed  inwardly  at  the  thought  of  banishing  dreams 
by  sleeping. 


THE  MASK   OF   IGNORANCE  259 

The  man  brought  a  glass,  and  held  it  to  my  lips,  and  I 
drank.  The  water  did  not  taste  so  good  as  the  first  draught 
did. 

I  closed  my  eyes ;  again  the  thought  came  that  the  dream 
would  soon  be  over. 

When  I  opened  my  eyes,  I  knew  it  was  night.  A  lighted 
candle  was  near  me.  I  was  lying  on  my  side.  I  had  turned, 
or  had  been  turned,  while  asleep.  Near  me  was  a  man  on  a 
bed ;  beyond  him  was  another  man  on  another  bed  ...  a 
great  fear  seized  me ;  drops  of  cold  sweat  rolled  down  my 
face.  .  .  .  Where  was  I  ?     What  was  I  ? 

My  head  began  to  throb.  I  heard  heavy  breathing.  I  tried 
to  remember  how  I  had  been  brought  to  this  place.  It  seemed 
like  the  place  of  .  .  .  had  I  dreamed  ?  Yes,  I  had  dreamed 
that  I  had  drunk  much  water ;  my  throat  was  parched. 

A  face  bent  over  me.  It  was  a  man's  face.  I  had  seen  it 
in  my  dream  .  .  .  then  I  was  not  yet  awake?  I  was  still 
dreaming  ?  Or,  if  I  was  awake,  maybe  I  had  not  dreamed  ? 
Can  this  man  and  these  men  and  this  tent  and  this  pain  all 
be  real  ?  No ;  certainly  not.  When  I  awake  I  shall  laugh 
at  this  dream ;  I  shall  write  it  out,  because  it  is  so  complex 
and  strange. 

The  man  said,  "  You  feel  better  now,  don't  you  ?  " 

I  tried  to  reply.  I  could  not  speak,  though  my  lips  moved. 
The  man  brought  water,  and  I  drank.  He  sat  by  me,  and  put 
his  fingers  on  my  wrist. 

"  You'll  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two,"  he  said.  I  hoped  that 
his  words  would  come  true  ;  then  I  wondered  how,  in  a  dream, 
I  could  hope  for  a  dream  to  end.     He  went  away. 

I  tried  hard  to  think,  but  the  effort  increased  the  pain  in 
my  head.  I  felt  cramped,  as  though  I  had  lain  long  in  one 
posture.  I  tried  to  turn,  but  was  able  only  to  stretch  my  legs 
and  arms. 

The  man  came  again.  He  looked  at  me;  then  he  knelt 
down  and  raised  my  head.     I  felt  better.     He  pulled  some- 


260  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

thing  behind  me,  and  then  went  away,  leaving  me  propped 
up. 

Daylight  was  coming.  The  light  of  the  candle  contrasted 
but  feebly  against  the  new  light.  I  could  see  the  pallets.  On 
each  was  a  man.  There  were  five.  I  counted,  —  one,  two, 
three,  four,  five;  five  sick  men.  I  wondered  if  they  were 
dreaming  also,  and  if  they  were  all  sick  in  the  head  ...  no ; 
no ;  such  fantasy  shows  but  more  strongly  that  all  this  horri- 
ble thing  is  unreal. 

I  counted  again,  —  one,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six;  how  is 
that  ? 

Oh,  I  see ;  I  have  counted  myself,  this  time. 

Myself?  What  part  or  lot  have  I  with  these  others? 
Who  are  they  ?     Who  am  I  ?     I  know  nothing  —  nothing. 

The  man  stood  over  me.  I  knew  that  he  was  a  doctor.  He 
said,  "  Are  you  easier  ?  " 

I  could  not  reply.     He  went  away. 

I  closed  my  eyes,  and  again  tried  to  think;  again  the  effort 
brought  increased  pain.  I  could  hear  a  whirring  noise  in  my 
ears.     I  tried  to  sleep.     I  tried  to  quit  thinking. 

When  I  opened  my  eyes,  the  sun  was  shining.  One  side  of 
the  tent  was  very  bright. 

A  negro  man  came.  I  remembered  that  his  name  was  Will- 
iam. He  brought  a  basin  of  water  and  a  towel  and  sponge. 
He  sponged  my  face  and  hands,  and  dried  them  with  the 
towel.  Then  he  said,  "  Can  you  eat  some  breakfast  ? "  I 
could  not  reply. 

The  men  on  the  pallets  —  five  —  were  awake.  They  said 
nothing.  The  doctor  was  kneeling  by  one  of  the  pallets  —  the 
one  next  to  me.  The  man  on  the  pallet  groaned.  The  doctor 
said  something  to  him.  I  could  not  tell  what  the  doctor  said. 
The  man  groaned. 

Another  man,  propped  up  on  his  pallet,  was  eating.  I  be- 
gan to  feel  hungry. 

William  brought  a  cup  of  tea,  with  a  piece  of  biscuit  floating 


THE   MASK   OF  IGNORANCE  261 

in  it.  He  raised  my  head  and  put  tlie  cup  to  my  lips.  I 
drank.     William  went  away. 

The  sun  was  making  the  tent  very  warm.  Many  sounds 
came  from  outside.  What  caused  the  sounds  I  did  not  know. 
I  was  near  enough  to  the  railroad  to  hear  the  cars,  but  I  knew 
the  sounds  were  not  from  cars.  I  could  hear  shouting,  as  if 
of  wagoners. 

All  at  once,  I  heard  thunder  —  no ;  it  could  not  be  thunder ; 
the  sun  was  shining.  Yet,  it  might  be  thunder ;  a  storm  might 
be  coming. 

I  wished  that  I  was  back  in  the  hotel.  I  was  sick,  and  it 
would  not  do  for  me  to  get  wet;  this  wagoner's  tent  was  not 
the  place  for  a  sick  man  in  a  storm. 

But  .  .  .  was  there  a  hotel?  The  hotel  was  a  dream  — 
this  was  the  reality.     I  know  nothing. 

The  doctor  came.  He  looked  at  me,  and  smiled.  I  tried  to 
smile  in  return,  for  I  liked  him.     "That's  right,"  he  said. 

The  doctor  knelt  by  the  pallet  next  to  mine  —  that  of  the 
man  who  had  groaned.     The  man  was  not  groaning  now. 

The  doctor  rose.  I  could  see  the  sick  man's  face  —  white. 
The  doctor  drew  the  sheet  over  the  man's  white  face.  The 
doctor  went  out  of  the  tent.     A  cold  sweat  was  on  me. 

Some  men  came  in  —  four  men.  Each  man  took  the  pallet 
by  a  corner.  They  took  the  pallet  out  of  the  tent.  They  did 
not  come  back. 

Again  I  heard  thunder.  The  sun  was  still  shining.  The 
heat  was  great  —  great  enough,  I  thought,  to  bring  a  storm 
even  in  October.     I  had  never  before  known  it  so  warm. 

Why  should  so  many  wagoners  be  sick  at  once  ?  And  why 
should  I  be  with  them  ?  I  began  to  fear  that  I  had  been  sick 
for  a  great  many  days  ;  I  thought  that  I  had  been  unconscious. 

The  doctor  came  in.  A  man  was  with  him.  The  man  had 
a  book  in  his  hand  —  a  book  and  a  pencil. 

Now  I  could  see  some  gilt  badges  on  the  doctor's  collar.  On 
his  arms  were  some  gilt  stripes  —  and  gilt  stripes  on  the  arms  of 


262  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

the  other  man  also.  These  men  must  be  officers,  I  thought, 
perhaps  officers  of  the  Citadel  battalion.^  I  wondered  what  I 
should  be  doing  in  their  world.  Then  again  came  the  thought 
that  I  had  been  unconscious,  and  for  how  long  I  did  not 
know. 

But,  no ;  it  can  be  nothing  else  than  a  dream  ! 

The  man  with  the  book  wrote  something  in  it.  Then  he 
showed  the  book  to  the  doctor,  and  gave  him  the  pencil. 
The  doctor  wrote  in  the  book,  and  gave  the  pencil  and  the 
book  back  to  the  man.  The  man  with  the  book  went  out  of 
the  tent. 

The  doctor  came  to  me.  He  raised  his  right  hand  as  high 
as  his  shoulder.  The  first  finger  and  the  middle  finger  were 
stretched  out ;  the  other  fingers  were  closed.  He  was  smiling. 
I  looked  at  his  hand  and  at  his  face,  and  wondered. 

He  said,  "  Look !     How  many  ?  " 

I  said,  "  Two." 

He  laughed  aloud.  "I  thought  so;  we're  getting  on  —  we're 
doing  famously." 

He  sat  down  by  me,  on  some  sort  of  a  stool  —  one  of  those 
folding  stools.     He  began  to  dress  my  head. 

"  Your  name  is  Jones  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  wondering,  yet  jDleased  with  the  sign  of 
good-will  shown  by  his  calling  me  by  my  first  name. 

"  What  edge  are  you  ?  " 

I  was  silent.     I  did  not  understand  the  question. 

"  What  edge  are  you  ?  "  he  repeated. 

I  was  not  so  sure  this  time  that  I  had  heard  aright.  Possi- 
bly he  had  used  other  words,  but  his  speech  sounded  to  me  as 
if  he  said,  "  What  edge  are  you  ?  " 

I  thought  he  was  meaning  to  ask  my  age. 

I  replied,  "  Twenty-one."     My  voice  was  strange  to  me. 

"You  mean  the  twenty -first  ?  "  he  asked. 

i"Tbe  Citadel"  is  the  Military  Academy  of  South  Carolina  in  Charles- 
ton.   [Ed.] 


THE  MASK   OF  IGNOKANCE  263 

"  I  am  in  my  twenty-second,"  I  said, 

"  The  twenty-second  what  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Year,"  said  I,  greatly  astonished. 

He  smiled,  then  suddenly  became  serious,  and  went  away. 

After  a  while  he  came  back.  "  Do  you  know  what  I  asked 
you  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"  Then  why  did  you  say  twenty-one  and  twenty-second  ?  " 

"  That  is  my  age,"  said  I. 

"  Oh !  "  said  he  ;  "  but  I  did  not  ask  your  age.  You  did  not 
hear?" 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"  What  is  your  reg-i-ment  ?  "  he  asked  very  distinctly. 

Now  it  was  clear  enough  that  all  this  thing  was  a  dream. 
For  a  man  in  real  life  to  ask  such  a  question,  it  was  impossi- 
ble.    I  felt  relieved  of  many  fears. 

"  What  are  you  smiling  at  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I've  been  dreaming,"  I  said. 

"  And  your  dream  was  pleasant  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"You  smile  then  at  unpleasant  things?" 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  he. 

"  Neither  do  I,"  said  I. 

"  What  is  your  regiment  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  such  a  question  ?  " 

"  It  is  my  duty.  I  have  to  make  a  report  of  your  case. 
Give  me  an  answer,"  said  he. 

"  I  have  no  regiment,"  I  said. 

"  Try  to  remember.  Do  you  know  that  you  have  been 
unconscious  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  you  are  better  now ;  and  you  will  soon  be  well,  and 
I  shall  have  to  send  you  back  to  your  regiment," 

"  What  do  you  mean  b}''  a  regiment  ?  "  I  asked. 


264  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

At  this  lie  looked  serious,  and  went  away,  but  soon  returned 
and  gave  me  a  bitter  draught. 

I  went  into  a  doze.  My  mind  wandered  over  many  trifles. 
I  was  neither  asleep  nor  awake.  My  nose  and  face  itched.  But 
the  pain  in  my  head  was  less  violent. 

After  a  while  I  was  fully  awake.  The  pain  had  returned. 
The  doctor  was  standing  by  me. 

"  Where  do  you  live  when  you  are  at  home  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  question  came  with  something  like  a  shock.  I  did  not 
know  how  to  reply.  And  it  seemed  no  less  strange  to  know 
that  thus  far  I  had  not  thought  of  home,  than  to  find  that  I 
did  not  know  a  home. 

"  Where  is  your  home  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  I  do  not  remember,"  I  said. 

"  Where  were  you  yesterday  ?  " 

"  I  was  at  the  hotel  on  the  hill,"  I  said. 

He  laughed  in  a  peculiar  way.  Then  he  said,  "  You  think 
you  are  in  South  Carolina  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied. 

"  Are  you  not  one  of  Gregg's  men  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"  You  don't  belong  to  Gregg's  regiment  ?  " 

"No,"  said  I. 

"  Nor  to  Gregg's  brigade  ?  " 

"  Soldiers,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied. 

"  Are  there  soldiers  camped  here  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied. 

"I  am  not  one  of  them,"  I  said. 

"  Try  to  remember,"  he  said,  and  went  away. 

The  more  I  tried  to  remember,  the  more  confused  I  was, 
and  the  more  did  I  suffer  pain.  I  could  see  now  that  what  I 
had  taken  for  a  wagoners'  camp  was  a  soldiers'  camp.  But 
why  there  should  be  soldiers  here  was  too  hard  for  me.  This 
doctor  with  gilt  stripes  must  be  a  surgeon. 


THE  MASK  OF  IGNORANCE  265 

The  doctor  came  again. 

"  How  are  you  now,  Jones  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Better,  I  trust,"  said  I. 

"  You  will  be  fit  for  duty  in  less  than  a  week,"  he  said. 

"  Fit  for  duty  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  duty  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insist  that  you  are  not  a  soldier  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  a  soldier,"  I  said. 

"  Then  why  do  you  wear  a  uniform  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  been  a  soldier ;  I  have  never  worn  uniform ; 
you  are  taking  me  for  another  man." 

"  You  have  on  the  uniform  now,"  said  he. 

He  brought  a  coat  and  showed  me  the  brass  buttons  on  it. 

"  Your  buttons  are  like  mine  —  palmetto  buttons." 

"  Palmetto  buttons  ?  "  I  repeated,  wondering. 

"  Yes  ;  you  say  you  are  in  South  Carolina  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  assented.     "  Is  that  my  coat  ?  " 

"  Yes.     What  district  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  —  yes,  Barnwell." 

"  Who  is  your  captain  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  had  a  captain."  Then,  by  a  great  effort,  I 
said,  "  I  don't  understand  at  all  this  talk  about  soldiers  and 
captains.     Do  you  belong  to  the  Citadel  battalion  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said  ;  "  you  mean  the  Charleston  Citadel  ? 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  you  go  to  the  Citadel  ?  " 

"  No  ;   I  think  not,"  said  I. 

"  Why  do  you  refer  to  the  Citadel  battalion  ?  " 

"  They  are  soldiers,"  I  replied. 

''  Did  you  ever  hear  of  President  Davis  —  Jeff  Davis  ?  " 

'•  No,"  said  I. 

•'  You  know  something  of  Charleston  ?  " 

'^I've  been  there,  I  think." 

"  When  ?  " 


266  WHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

"  Well ;  not  very  long  ago." 

"  How  long  ?     Try  to  think." 

"  I  am  greatly  confused,"  I  said.  "  I  don't  know  whether  I 
am  awake  or  dreaming." 

"  Ask  me  questions,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  " 

"  In  the  field  hospital." 

"  What  am  I  here  for  ?  What  is  the  field  hospital  ?  I  did 
not  know  there  was  a  hospital  here." 

"  Where  do  you  think  you  are  ?  " 

"  In  Aiken,"  I  said. 

*'  Do  you  live  in  Aiken  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Doctor.     I  suppose  you  are  a  doctor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  when  I'm  at  home ;  here  I  am  a  surgeon.  Ask  me 
more  questions." 

"  Give  me  some  water,"  said  I. 

He  brought  the  water,  and  I  drank. 

"  Am  I  not  in  Aiken  ?  " 

"You  are  not  now  in  Aiken,"  said  the  doctor.  "Try  to 
remember  whether  your  home  is  in  Aiken." 

"  No,  I  am  staying  here  for  a  time,"  said  I. 

"  Where  is  your  home  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  anything,"  said  I,  gloomily. 

"Ask  me  more  questions,"  said  the  doctor  ;  "we  must  try  to 
get  you  out  of  this." 

"  Out  of  this  what  ?  " 

"  This  condition.  You  have  been  hurt,  and  you  cannot  put 
things  together  yet.  It  vnll  come  right  after  a  little,  if  you 
don't  get  irritable." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  I. 

"  Ask  more  questions,"  said  he. 

"  How  did  I  get  here  ?  " 

"  You  were  brought  here  unconscious,  or  almost  so,  by  my 
infirmary  men." 

"  What  men  ?  " 


THE   MASK   OF  IGNORANCE  267 

"Infirmary  men." 

"  What  are  they  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  they  are  my  helpers." 

"  I  knew  something  strange  had  happened.  How  did  I  get 
hurt  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know  how  long  you  were  in  Aiken  ?  " 

"  I  came  here  yesterday,  and  expected  to  stay  two  or  three 
days  ;  but  from  what  you  tell  me  I  suppose  I  am  not  here  now." 

"  Where  were  you  before  you  went  to  Aiken  ?  " 

« I  don't  know." 

"  Were  you  not  in  Charleston  ?  " 

"I  was  in  Charleston,  but  it  might  have  been  after  I  was  in 
Aiken." 

His  look  became  very  serious  at  this  —  in  truth,  what  I  had 
said  was  puzzling  to  myself. 

"  I  think  you  belong  to  Gregg's  brigade,  very  likely  to 
Gregg's  regiment.  I  shall  be  obliged  to  leave  you  now,  but 
you  need  something  first." 

He  gave  me  another  bitter  draught  of  I  know  not  what,  and 
went  out  of  the  tent. 

To  say  what  I  thought  would  be  impossible.  I  thought 
everything  and  nothing. 

Again  that  thunder. 

The  best  I  had  in  this  bewilderment  was  trust  in  the  doctor. 
I  believed  he  would  clear  up  this  fog  in  my  brain  ;  for  that  my 
brain  was  confused  I  could  no  longer  doubt.  The  doctor  was 
hopeful  —  that  was  my  comfort.  He  had  given  me  medicine 
every  time  I  felt  worse ;  he  was  certainly  a  good  doctor.  I  felt 
soothed:  perhaps  the  medicine  was  helping  me. 

When  I  awoke,  the  sun  was  low.     The  doctor  was  by  me. 

"  You  have  been  talking  in  your  sleep,"  he  said. 

"  What  did  I  say  ?  "      My  brain  now  seemed  a  little  clearer. 

"  Nothing  of  consequence.  You  mentioned  the  names  of 
several  persons  —  you  said  something  about  Butler,  and  some- 
thing also  about  Brooks  and  Sumner." 


268  WHO   GOES  THEEE? 

"  Was  Brooks  from  Aiken  ?  " 

«  What  Brooks  ?  " 

"  I  don't  remember,"  I  said. 

"  I  was  sure  that  you  belong  to  a  South  Carolina  regiment," 
he  said. 

"  No,  Doctor ;  I  don't  belong  to  any  regiment,  and  I  don't 
understand  your  talk  about  regiments.  Why  should  there  be 
regiments  ?  " 

"  Do  you  see  these  men  ?  "  asked  the  doctor,  pointing  to  the 
pallets ;  "they  have  been  wounded  in  battle." 

I  looked  at  him  closely.  He  seemed  sober  and  sane, 
although  his  words  were  wild. 

"  We  are  at  war,"  he  continued.  "  Tell  me,"  he  added  sud- 
denly, "  tell  me  what  day  of  the  month  this  is." 

"  The  nineteenth,"  said  I. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Because  I  read  yesterday  the  Augusta  Constitutionalist  of 
the  eighteenth,"  said  I. 

"  Now  that's  the  kind  of  answer  I  like,"  said  he ;  '*'  your  head 
is  getting  well.     Eighteenth  of  what  ?  " 

"  October ;  I  think  this  is  very  warm  weather  for  October," 
said  I. 

"  It  is  indeed,"  said  he. 

"I  suppose  there  was  a  storm  somewhere/'  said  I;  "I  heard 
thunder." 

"  I  did  not  hear  any  thunder,"  said  he. 

"  Then  maybe  it  was  part  of  my  dream,"  I  said. 

"  What  else  did  you  dream  ?  " 

"  I  dreamed  that  I  saw  a  dead  man  carried  out  of  the  tent." 

"  Can  you  trust  me  ?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

«  Yes." 

"  How  old  did  you  say  you  are  ?  " 

"  Twenty-one." 

"  Do  you  know  in  what  year  you  were  born  ?  " 

"  Yes  5  to  be  sure  —  thirty-eight." 


THE   MASK   OF  IGI^ORANCE  269 

"  Thirty-eight  and  twenty-one  make  how  much  ?  " 

"  Fifty-nine,"  said  I. 

"  I  think  I'd  better  give  you  some  medicine,"  said  he. 

I  took  the  draught.  In  a  very  short  time  I  began  to  feel 
strangely  calm  —  in  fact,  almost  stupid.  The  doctor  sat  by  my 
side. 

"  You  can  trust  me  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  belong  to  a  South  Carolina  regiment,"  he  said. 

I  looked  at  him,  and  said  nothing. 

"  I  know  just  what  you  are  thinking,"  said  he,  smiling;  "you 
are  thinking  that  one  of  us  two  is  crazy." 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  But  you  are  wrong,  at  least  in  regard  to  yourself.  You 
are  suffering  a  little  in  the  head,  but  there  is  no  longer  any 
danger  to  your  brain  at  all." 

"  I  think  I  am  dreaming,"  said  I. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  continue  to  think  so ;  that  will  do  no 
harm." 

He  went  away,  but  soon  returned  —  I  say  soon,  but  I  may 
be  wrong  in  that. 

"  How  do  you  get  on  with  that  dream  of  yours  ?  "  he  asked ; 
"  what  have  you  dreamed  while  I  was  gone  ?  " 

"  Confusion,"  said  I ;  "  nothing  but  confusion." 

"  If  a  man  is  dreaming,  will  a  sharp  pain  awake  him  ?  " 

"I  suppose  so." 

"  Well,  let  me  try  it,"  and  he  opened  his  lancet. 

I  shrank,  and  he  laughed. 

"You  are  beginning  to  understand  that  many  things  have 
happened  since  you  were  in  Aiken  ?  " 

I  made  a  motion  of  my  head  —  meaning  half  assent. 

"  You  will  end  by  remembering  your  broken  experience,"  he 
said,  "  but  it  may  take  some  time.  Your  case  is  more  stubborn 
than  I  thought." 

«  How  did  I  get  hurt  ?  "  I  asked. 


270  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

"  You  were  knocked  down,"  said  he. 

"Who  did  it?"  I  asked. 

"  Don't  precisely  know,"  said  he  ;  "  but  it  makes  no  difference 
which  one  did  it ;  we  all  know  that  you  were  in  the  right." 

''  There  was  a  quarrel  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  A  big  one,"  said  he  ;  "I  think  it  best  to  relieve  your  curi- 
osity at  once  by  telling  you  what  has  happened  in  the  world. 
If  I  did  not,  you  would  make  yourself  worse  by  fancying  too 
much,  and  you  would  become  more  and  more  bewildered.  I 
can  put  you  right.  But  can  you  make  up  your  mind  to  accept 
the  situation  as  it  is,  and  bear  up  in  the  hope  that  you  will 
come  right  in  the  end  ?  " 

I  did  not  reply.  I  do  not  know  what  feeling  was  uppermost 
in  my  mind.  It  was  not  anxiety,  for  my  interest  in  others 
was  pure  blank.  It  was  not  fear,  for  he  had  assured  me  that 
my  physical  condition  was  more  favourable. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued ;  "  it  is  best  to  tell  you  the  truth,  and 
the  whole  truth,  lest  your  fancy  conjure  up  things  that  do  not 
exist.  After  all,  there  is  nothing  in  it  but  what  you  might 
have  reasonably  expected  when  you  were  in  Aiken  in  eighteen 
fifty-nine." 

"  How  long  have  I  been  in  this  condition  ?  "  I  asked. 

*'  This  condition  ?     Only  since  yesterday  morning." 

"  Then  why  do  you  say  eighteen  fifty -nine  ?  " 

"  Your  present  condition  began  yesterday ;  but  it  is  also 
true  —  or  at  least  seems  to  be  true  —  that  you  do  not  remem- 
ber your  experience  from  October  eighteen  fifty-nine  until 
yesterday." 

"  You  mean  for  me  to  believe  that  eighteen  fifty -nine  has 
all  gone  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  all  gone  —  in  fact,  this  is  summer  weather." 

I  remembered  the  heat  of  the  past  day,  and  the  thunder. 
Yet  it  was  hard  for  me  to  believe  that  I  had  been  unconscious 
for  six  months  —  but,  no;  he  was  not  saying  I  had  been  uncon- 
scious for  six  months  —  nobody  could  live  through  such  a  state 


THE   MASK   OF  IGNORANCE  271 

—  he  was  telling  me  that  I  could  not  remember  what  I  had 
known  six  months  ago. 

"  What  month  is  this  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  June,"  said  he ;  "  June  4th." 

"  Erom  October  to  June  is  a  long  time,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  and  many  things  have  happened  since  October  eigh- 
teen fifty-nine,"  said  he. 

"  Doctor,  are  you  serious  ?  "  I  asked. 

''  On  my  honour,"  said  he. 

"  And  I  have  lost  eight  months  of  my  life  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  only  the  memory  of  the  past,  and  that  loss  is  but 
temporary.     You  will  get  right  after  a  while." 

"  And  what  have  I  been  doing  for  the  past  eight  months  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I've  been  trying  to  find  out,"  said  he  ;  '*I  am 
trying  now  to  find  your  regiment." 

"  There  you  go  again  about  my  regiment.  Do  you  expect 
me  to  accept  that  ?  " 

"  You  said  you  could  trust  me,"  he  replied  ;  "  why  should  I 
deceive  you  ?     Tell  me  why  you  think  I  may  be  deceiving  you." 

"  Because  —  "  said  I. 

"  Because  what  ?  " 

"  I  fear  that  you  are  hiding  a  worse  thing  in  order  to  do  me 
good." 

"But  I  gave  you  my  word  of  honour,  and  I  give  it  again. 
These  hills  around  you  are  covered  by  an  army." 

"  Where  are  we  ?  "  I  asked,  in  wonder. 

"  We  are  near  Richmond ;  within  five  miles  of  it." 

"  What  Richmond  ?  " 

"  In  Virginia." 

"  And  what  brought  me  here  ?     Why  should  I  be  here  ?  " 

"  You  came  here  voluntarily,  while  you  were  in  good  health, 
no  doubt,  and  while  your  mind  acted  perfectly." 

"  But  why  should  I  have  come  ?  " 

"  Because  your  regiment  was  ordered  to  come." 

"  And  why  should  there  be  an  army  ?  " 


272  WHO   GOES  THEKE  ? 

''Because  your  country  was  invaded.  You  volunteered  to 
defend  your  country,  and  your  regiment  was  ordered  here." 

"  Country  invaded  ?    Volunteered  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  we  are  at  war  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  With  England  ?  " 

"  No ;  not  with  England,  with  the  United  States." 

I  laughed  gayly,  perhaps  hysterically. 

"  Now  I  know  that  this  is  a  dream,"  said  I. 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  The  idea  of  the  United  States  being  at  war  with  itself  !  "  I 
laughed  again. 

"  Take  this,"  said  he,  and  he  gave  me  another  potion.  He 
waited  a  few  minutes  for  the  medicine  to  affect  me.  Then  he 
said,  "  Can  you  remember  how  many  states  compose  the  United 
States  ? " 

"  Thirty-three,  I  believe,"  said  I. 

"  There  were  thirty -three,  I  suppose,  in  eighteen  fifty -nine," 
said  he ;  "  but  now  there  are  not  so  many.  Eleven  of  the  states 
—  the  most  of  the  Southern  states  —  have  seceded  and  have  set 
up  a  government  of  their  own.  We  call  ourselves  the  Confed- 
erate States  of  America.  Our  capital  is  Richmond.  The 
Northern  states  are  at  war  with  us,  trying  to  force  us  back 
into  the  Union,  as  they  call  it.  War  has  been  going  on  for 
more  than  a  year." 

"What!" 

"  Yes,"  said  he ;  "  all  these  great  events  required  more  than 
eight  months." 

"  More  than  a  year  ! "  I  exclaimed ;  "  what  year  is  this  ?  " 

"  Here  is  my  record,"  said  he ;  "  here  is  yesterday's  record." 

He  opened  it  at  a  page  opposite  which  was  a  blank 
page.  The  written  page  was  headed  June  3, 1862.  Below  the 
heading  were  written  some  eight  or  ten  names,  —  Private 
Such-a-one,  of  Company  A  or  B,  such  a  regiment ;  Corporal 


THE  MASK   OF  IGI^ORANCE  2T3 

Somebody  of  anotlier  regiment,  and  so  on.  Upon  one  line 
there  was  nothing  written  except  B.  Jones. 

Then  the  doctor  brought  me  a  newspaper,  and  showed  me 
the  date.  The  paper  was  the  Richmond  Examiner;  the  date, 
Wednesday,  June  4,  1862. 

"  This  is  to-day's  paper,"  said  the  doctor. 

I  laughed. 

He  continued :  "  Yes,  war  has  been  going  on  for  more  than 
a  year.  The  great  effort  of  the  United  States  army  is  to  take 
Richmond,  and  the  Confederates  have  an  army  here  to  defend 
Richmond.     Here,"  he  added,  "I  will  show  you." 

He  went  to  the  door  of  the  tent  and  held  back  the  canvas  on 
both  sides. 

" Look !  " 

I  looked  with  all  my  eyes.  My  vision  was  limited  to  a  narrow 
latitude.  I  could  see  tents,  their  numbers  increasing  as  per- 
spective broadened  the  view.  I  could  see  many  men  passing 
to  and  fro. 

"  You  see  a  little  of  it,"  said  he ;  "  the  lines  extend  for 
miles." 

I  did  not  laugh.  My  hands  for  the  first  time  went  up  to  my 
face ;  I  wanted  to  hide  my  eyes  from  a  mental  flash  too  daz- 
zling and  too  false ;  at  once  my  hands  fell  back. 

I  had  found  a  beard  on  my  face,  where  there  had  been  none 
before. 


XXI 

ONE   MORE    CONFEDEEATE 

"  Thy  mind  and  body  are  alike  unfit 
To  trust  each  other,  for  some  hours,  at  least ; 
When  thou  art  better,  I  will  be  thy  guide  — 
But  whither  ?  "  —  Byron. 

I  AWOKE  from  an  uneasy  sleep,  superinduced,  I  thought,  by 
the  surgeon's  repeated  potions.  My  head  was  light  and  giddy, 
but  the  pain  had  almost  gone.     My  stomach  was  craving  food. 

It  was  night.  Candles  were  burning  on  a  low  table  in  the 
middle  of  the  tent.  The  pallets,  other  than  mine,  had  dis- 
appeared ;  my  dream  had  changed ;  the  tent  seemed  larger. 

The  doctor  and  two  strange  men  were  sitting  by  the  table. 
I  had  heard  them  talking  before  I  opened  my  eyes, 

"  I  should  like  to  have  him,  Frank." 

Then  the  doctor's  voice  said :  "  I  have  made  inquiry  of  every 
adjutant  in  the  brigade,  and  no  such  man  seems  to  be  missing. 
But  he  knows  that  he  is  from  South  Carolina  —  in  fact,  his 
buttons  are  sufficient  proof  of  that.  Then  the  diary  found 
in  his  pocket  shows  the  movements  of  no  other  brigade  than 
Gregg's.     Take  him  into  your  company.  Captain." 

"  Can  I  do  that  without  some  authority  ?  " 

"  You  can  receive  him  temporarily ;  when  he  is  known,  he 
will  be  called  for,  and  you  can  return  him  to  his  company," 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Aleck  ?  " 

"I  think  it  would  be  irregular,  or  perhaps  I  should  say 
exceptional,"  said  another  voice ;  "  the  regulations  cannot  pro- 
vide for  miraculous  contingencies." 

"The  whole  thing's  irregular,"  said  the  doctor;  "it's  impos- 

274 


ONE   MORE   CONFEDERATE  275 

sible  to  make  it  regular  until  his  company  is  found.  What 
else  can  you  suggest  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     Can't  we  wait  ?  " 

«  Wait  for  what  ?  " 

"  Wait  till  we  find  his  people." 

"  He'll  be  fit  for  duty  in  two  days.  What'll  we  do  with  him 
then  ?  —  turn  him  loose  ?  He  wouldn't  know  what  to  do  with 
himself.  I  tell  you  we  can't  find  his  regiment,  or,  at  least,  we 
haven't  found  it,  and  that  he  is  fit  for  duty,  or  will  be  in  a 
few  days ;  he  is  not  a  fit  subject  for  the  general  hospital, 
and  I  wouldn't  risk  sending  him  there  5  Powell  would  wonder 
at  me." 

"  Can't  you  keep  him  a  while  longer  ?  " 

"  I  can  keep  him  a  few  days  only  ;  I  tell  you  there  is  noth- 
ing the  matter  with  him.  If  I  discharge  him,  what  will  he 
do  ?  He  ought  to  be  attached  —  he  must  be  attached,  else  he 
cannot  even  get  food.  It  will  all  necessarily  end  in  his  being 
forced  into  the  ranks  of  some  company,  and  I  want  to  see  him 
placed  right." 

"I  will  not  object  to  taking  him  if  I  can  get  him  properly." 

"  Somebody'll  get  him.  Besides,  we  can't  let  him  leave  us 
before  he  has  a  place  to  go  to.  I  think  I  have  the  right,  in 
this  miraculous  contingency,  as  Aleck  calls  it,  to  hand  him  over 
to  you,  at  least  temporarily.  Of  course  you  can't  keep  him 
always.  Sooner  or  later  we'll  hear  of  some  regiment  that  is 
seeking  such  a  man.  His  memory  will  return  to  him,  so  that 
he'll  know  where  he  belongs." 

"Yes  —  I  suppose  so.  I  am  willing  to  receive  him.  When 
his  company  is  found,  of  course  I  shall  be  compelled  to  let 
him  go." 

"  If  provision  is  not  made  for  him,  he  must  suffer.  I  shall 
fear  for  him  unless  we  can  settle  him  in  some  way  such  as  I 
propose.     Am  I  not  right,  Aleck  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  keep  him  with  you  as  some  sort  of  help  ?  " 

"  I  would  not  propose  such  a  thing  to  him.     There  could  be 


276  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

nothing  here  for  him  except  a  servant's  place.  He  is  my  man, 
and  I'm  going  to  treat  him  better  than  that.  By  the  way,  I 
believe  he  is  awake." 

My  eyes  were  wide  open.  The  doctor  turned  to  me  and  said, 
"  How  do  you  feel  now,  Jones  ?  " 

"  Am  I  here  yet  ?  "  I  muttered. 

"  Yes.     Did  you  expect  to  be  in  two  places  at  once  ?  " 

"  Where  are  the  others  ?  " 

"  What  others  ?  " 

"  The  five  men." 

"  What  five  men  ?  " 

"  The  five  men  on  the  pallets." 

"  Oh  !  —  been  sent  to  the  general  hospital." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  mournfully ;  ''  everything  that  comes  goes 
again." 

''  Sound  philosophy,"  said  he ;  "  you  are  getting  strong  and 
well.  Don't  bother  your  head  about  what  happened  last  cen- 
tury or  last  year." 

He  went  to  the  door  and  called  William. 

The  negro  man  came.     "  Some  soup,"  said  the  doctor. 

The  soup  was  good.  I  felt  better  —  almost  strong.  The 
doctor's  friends  sat  by,  saying  nothing.  The  doctor  smiled  to 
see  me  take  the  soup  somewhat  greedily. 

"  Talk  to  him,  Captain,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  My  friend,"  said  one  of  the  men,  "  allow  me  to  ask  if  you 
know  where  you  are." 

"  I  know  what  I've  been  told,"  said  I. 

"  You  must  be  good  enough  to  believe  it,"  said  he ;  "  you 
believe  it  or  you  doubt  it.    Do  you  still  doubt  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said  boldly. 

"  I  can't  blame  you,"  said  he.  His  voice  was  low  and  firm 
—  a  gentleman's  voice ;  a  voice  to  inspire  confidence ;  a  voice 
Avhich  I  thought,  vaguely,  I  had  heard  before. 

"  Yet,"  he  continued,  "  to  doubt  it  you  must  be  making  some 
theory  of  your  own ;  what  is  it,  please  ?  " 


ONE   MORE   CONFEDERATE  277 

He  spoke  "with  a  slight  lisp.  I  noticed  it,  and  felt  pleased 
that  I  had  got  to  a  stage  in  which  such  a  trifle  was  of  any 
interest. 

"  The  only  possible  theories  are  that  I  am  dreaming  and  —  " 

"  Be  good  enough  to  tell  me  another." 

He  had  not  interrupted  me  ;   I  had  hesitated. 

"  I  know  !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor ;  ''  he  thinks  I  am  conceal- 
ing worse  by  inventing  a  war  with  all  its  et  ceteras.  His  sup- 
position does  me  credit  in  one  way,  but  in  another  it  does  me 
great  injury.  Although  I  have  given  him  my  word  of  honour 
that  I  am  concealing  nothing,  he  still  hangs  to  his  notion  that 
I  am  lying  to  him  in  order  to  keep  from  him  a  truth  that 
might  be  dangerous  to  his  health.  I  shall  be  compelled  to  call 
him  out  when  he  gets  well.     Will  you  act  for  me,  Aleck  ?  " 

"With  great  pleasure,"  said  the  man  addressed;  "but  per- 
haps your  friend  will  make  the  amende  when  he  knows  the 
injustice  of  his  suspicions." 

"  Have  I  told  either  of  you  what  I  have  said  to  Jones  about 
the  war  ?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Certainly  not ;  so  far  as  I  have  the  right  to  speak,"  said 
the  Captain.     The  other  man  shook  his  head. 

"  Then  tell  Jones  the  conditions  here." 

"  Oh,  Doctor,  don't  be  so  hard  on  me !  I  accept  all  you  say, 
although  it  is  accepting  impossibilities." 

"Then,  about  your  dream  theory,"  said  the  Captain;  "would 
you  object  to  my  asking  if  you  have  ever  had  such  a  dream  — 
so  vivid  and  so  long  ?  " 

"Not  that  I  know  of,"  said  I. 

"  You  think  that  Dr.  Frost  and  my  brother  and  I  are  mere 
creatures  of  your  fancy  ?  " 

The  candles  did  not  give  a  great  light.  I  coxild  not  clearly 
see  his  features.  He  came  nearer,  moving  his  stool  to  my 
side.  My  head  was  below  him,  so  that  I  was  looking  up  at 
his  face.  He  was  a  young  man.  His  face  was  almost  a  tri- 
angle, with  its  long  jaw. 


278  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

"  I  believe  that  dreams  are  not  very  well  understood,  even 
by  the  wisest,"  he  said.  "  Do  me  the  kindness  to  confess  that 
your  present  experience,  if  a  dream,  is  more  wonderful  than 
any  other  dream  you  have  had." 

Though  my  head  was  dizzy,  I  thought  I  could  detect  a  slight 
tinge  of  irony  in  this  excessively  polite  speech. 

"  I  think  it  must  be,"  I  replied ;  "  although  I  cannot  remem- 
ber any  other  dream." 

"  Then,  might  not  one  say  that  the  only  dream  you  are  con- 
scious of  is  not  a  dream  ?  " 

"  That  contradicts  itself,"  said  I. 

"  And  you  find  yourself  unable  to  accept  the  word  of  three 
men  that  you  are  not  dreaming  ?  " 

''iSTot  if  they  are  men  of  my  dream,"  said  I. 

"A  good  retort,  sir,"  he  said.  "  Do  me  the  kindn(>ss  to  tell 
me  your  notion  of  a  dream.  Do  you  think  it  should  be  con- 
sistent throughout,  or  should  there  be  strong  intrinsic  proof  of 
its  own  unrealness  ?  " 

"Captain,"  I  said,  "I  cannot  tell.  I  know  nothing.  I 
doubt  my  own  existence." 

"Pardon  me,"  said  he;  "you  know  the  test  —  you  think, 
therefore  you  exist.     Are  you  not  sure  that  you  think  ?  " 

"I  think,  or  I  dream  that  I  think." 

"Well  said,  sir;  an  excellent  reasoner  while  dreaming. 
But  suppose  you  dream  on  ;  what  will  be  the  result  ?  " 

"  Dream  and  sleep  till  I  awake,"  said  I. 

"  May  I  ask  where  you  will  awake  ?  " 

"In  Aiken." 

"  I  know  a  little  of  Aiken,"  said  the  Captain  ;  "  I  was  there 
not  a  year  ago." 

Naturally  the  remark  was  of  interest  to  me. 

"  When  was  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  It  was  in  August,  of  last  year.  You  remember,  Frank,  I 
was  recruiting  for  the  reorganized  First." 

"  August  of  what  year  ?  "  I  asked. 


ONE   MOltE  CONFEDERATE  279 

"  August  eighteen  sixty-one,  very  naturally." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  I,  "  bear  with  me,  I  beg  you.  I  am  not 
myself.     I  am  going  through  deep  waters.     I  know  nothing." 

"  We  know,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  and  we  are  going  to  see  you 
through."  Then  he  added :  "  Captain  Haskell  came  from  Abbe- 
ville. He  has  men  in  his  company  from  several  of  the  dis- 
tricts ;  possibly  some  of  them  would  know  you,  and  you  might 
know  them." 

I  did  not  want  to  know  them.  I  said  nothing.  The  doctor's 
suggestion  was  not  to  my  liking.  Why  should  I  join  these 
men  ?  What,  to  me,  was  this  captain  ?  What  was  I  to  him  ? 
So  far  as  I  knew,  I  had  no  interest  in  this  war.  So  far  as  I 
could  know  myself,  my  tastes  did  not  seem  to  set  strongly  in 
the  direction  of  soldiering.  These  men  could  get  along  with- 
out my  help.  Why  could  I  not  hnd  a  different  occupation  ? 
Anything  would  be  better  than  getting  killed  in  a  cause  I  did 
not  understand.  Then,  too,  I  was  threatened  with  the  wretched 
condition  of  an  object  of  common  curiosity.  If  I  was  going  to 
be  gazed  at  by  this  officer  and  his  men,  —  if  I  was  to  be  regarded 
as  a  freak,  —  my  way  certainly  did  not  lie  with  theirs. 

"Frank,"  said  the  Captain's  brother,  "would  it  hurt  Jones 
to  go  out  of  the  tent  for  a  moment  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  a  good  suggestion." 

"  Why  should  I  go  out  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Only  to  look  about  you,"  he  replied. 

The  doctor  helped  me  to  my  feet.  I  was  surprised  to  find 
myself  so  strong.  Dr.  Frost  took  my  arm ;  all  of  us  went 
out. 

I  looked  around.  Near  us  but  little  could  be  seen  —  only  a 
few  fires  on  the  ground.  But  far  off — a  mile  or  so,  I  don't 
know  —  the  whole  world  was  shining  with  fires ;  long  lines  of 
them  to  the  right  and  the  left. 

We  returned  into  the  tent.     Not  a  word  had  been  spoken. 

Captain  Haskell  now  said  to  me :  "  Pardon  me  for  now 
leaving  you.     Command  me,  if  I  can  be  of  any  help ;  I  trust 


280  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

you  will  not  think  me  too  bold  in  advising  you  to  make  no 
hasty  decision  which  you  might  regret  afterward  ;  good-by." 

"  Good-by,  Captain,"  I  replied ;  "  I  must  trust  the  doctor." 

The  Captain's  brother  lingered.  Dr.  Frost  was  busy  with 
him  for  a  while,  over  some  writing;  I  inferred  that  the  surgeon 
was  making  a  report.  When  this  matter  was  ended  the  doc- 
tor said  to  me,  "  This  officer  also  is  a  Captain  Haskell ;  he  is 
assistant  adjutant-general  of  Gregg's  brigade,  and  is  a  brother 
of  Captain  William  Haskell." 

The  adjutant  now  came  nearer  and  sat  by  me.  "  Yes,"  said 
he  ;  "  but  I  was  in  my  brother's  company  at  first.  We  all  shall 
be  glad  to  help  you  if  we  can." 

"  Captain,"  said  I,  "  your  goodness  touches  me  keenly.  I 
admire  it  the  more  because  I  know  that  I  am  nothing  to  you 
gentlemen." 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  your  case  is  a  very  interesting  one,  espe- 
cially to  Dr.  Erost,  and  we  are  all  good  friends  ;  the  doctor 
was  in  Company  H  himself  —  was  its  first  orderly  sergeant. 
Frank  called  our  attention  to  your  case  in  order  that  we  might 
try  to  help  you,  and  we  should  be  glad  to  help." 

"  Jones,"  said  Dr.  Frost,  "  it  is  this  way :  The  army  may 
move  any  day  or  any  hour.  You  cannot  be  sent  to  the  general 
hospital,  because  you  are  almost  well.  Something  must  be 
done  with  you.     What  would  you  have  us  do  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  plans,"  said  I ;  ''it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to 
have  any  plan.  But  I  think  it  would  be  wrong  for  me  to  com- 
mit myself  to  something  I  do  not  understand.  You  seem  to 
suggest  that  I  enlist  as  a  soldier.  I  feel  no  desire  to  go  to 
war,  or  to  serve  as  a  soldier  in  any  way.  Possibly  I  should 
think  differently  if  I  knew  anything  about  the  war  and  its 
causes." 

"  You  are  already  a  Confederate  soldier,"  said  Dr.  Frost. 

"  I  think,  Frank,"  said  Adjvitant  Haskell,  "  that  if  the  causes 
of  the  war  were  explained  to  your  friend,  he  would  be  better 
prepared  to  agree  to   your  wishes.     Suppose   you  take  time 


ONE   MORE   CO:N^rEDERATE  281 

to-morrow  and  give  him  light;  I  know  he  must  be  full  of 
curiosity." 

"  Eight !  "  said  the  doctor ;  "  I'll  do  it.  Let  him  knoAV  what 
is  going  on.  Then  he'll  see  that  we  are  right.  He'd  have  it 
to  do,  though,  in  the  end." 

"  Yes ;  but  let  him  understand  fully  ;  then  he'll  be  more 
cheerful ;  at  any  rate,  it  can  do  no  harm." 

"  But  why  should  I  be  compelled  to  serve  ?  "  I  asked. 

"■  Jones,  my  dear  fellow,  you  seem  determined  not  to  believe 
that  you  are  already  a  soldier,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  If  I  am  a  soldier,  I  belong  somewhere,"  said  I. 

■"  Of  course  you  do,"  said  Adjutant  Haskell;  "and  all  that 
we  propose  is  to  give  you  a  home  until  you  find  where  you 
belong ;  and  the  place  we  propose  for  you  is  undoubtedly  the 
best  place  we  know  of.  Company  H  is  a  fine  body  of  men ; 
since  I  am  no  longer  in  it  I  may  say  that  they  are  picked  men ; 
the  most  of  them  are  gentlemen.  Let  me  mention  some  good 
old  Carolina  names —  you  will  remember  them,  I  think.  Did 
you  never  hear  the  name  of  Barnwell  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  I  said ;  "  I've  been  to  Barnwell  Court- 
House.  I  believe  this  place  —  I  mean  Aiken  —  is  in  Barnwell 
district." 

"  Well,  John  G.  Barnwell  is  the  first  lieutenant  in  Company 
H.     Do  you  know  of  the  Rhetts  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  name  is  familiar  as  that  of  a  prominent  family." 

"  Grimke  Rhett  is  a  lieutenant  in  Company  H.  Then  there 
are  the  Seabrooks  and  the  Hutsons,  and  Mackay,  and  the  Bel- 
lots,^  and  Stewart,  and  Bee,  and  Eraser  Miller,  and  many  more 
who  represent  good  old  families.  You  would  speedily  feel  at 
home." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  I,  "  how  I  ever  became  a  soldier  I  do  not 
know.     I  am  a  soldier  in  a  cause  that  I  do  not  understand." 


1  The  Bellots  were  of  a  French  Huguenot  family,  which  settled  in  Ahbeville, 
S.C.  (in  1765  ?).    The  name  gradually  came  to  be  pronounced  ^e^ZoWe.     pEc] 


282  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"  And  you  have  done  many  other  things  that  you  could  not 
now  understand  if  you  were  told  of  them,"  said  the  doctor. 

"But,  Jones,"  said  the  adjutant,  "a  man  who  has  already 
been  wounded  in  the  service  of  his  country  ought  to  be  proud 
of  it ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean.  Captain  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Hold  on  !  "  said  Dr.  Frost.  "  Well,  I  suppose  there  is  no 
harm  done.     Tell  him  how  he  was  hurt,  Aleck." 

"  How  did  you  suppose  you  received  your  hurt  ?  "  asked  the 
adjutant. 

"  I  was  told  by  Dr.  Frost  that  somebody  knocked  me  down," 
said  I,  with  nervous  curiosity. 

"  Yes,  that's  so ;  somebody  did  knock  you  down,"  said  the 
doctor. 

"  You  were  struck  senseless  by  a  bursting  shell  thrown  by 
the  enemy's  cannon,"  said  the  adjutant,  "  and  yet  you  refuse  to 
admit  that  you  are  a  soldier  !  " 

To  say  that  I  was  speechless  would  be  weak.  I  stared  back 
at  the  two  men. 

"You  have  on  the  uniform;  you  are  armed;  you  are  in  the 
ranks ;  you  are  under  fire  from  the  enemy's  batteries,  where 
death  may  come,  and  does  come ;  you  are  wounded ;  you  are 
brought  to  your  hospital  for  treatment.  And  yet  you  doubt 
that  you  are  a  soldier !  You  must  be  merely  dreaming  that 
you  doubt ! " 

While  speaking  Adjutant  Haskell  had  risen,  a  sign  that  he 
was  getting  angry,  I  feared ;  but  no,  he  was  going  to  leave. 
"  Jones,  good-by,"  he  said ;  "  hold  on  to  that  strong  will  of 
yours,  but  don't  let  it  fall  into  obstinacy." 

The  doctor  came  nearer.  "  You  are  stronger  than  you 
thought,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  I  am.     I  was  surprised." 

"You  remind  me  of  horses  I  have  seen  fall  between  the 
shafts ;  they  lie  there  and  seem  to  fancy  that  they  have  no 
strength  at  all.     I  suppose  they  think  that  they  are  dreaming." 


ONE  MORE   C0:N^FEDERATE  283 

At  this  speech  I  laughed  aloud  —  why,  I  hardly  know, 
unless  it  was  that  my  own  mind  recalled  one  such  ludicrous 
incident ;  then,  too,  it  was  pleasant  to  hear  the  doctor  say 
that  I  was  strong. 

"  Yes,  Jones ;  all  you  need  is  a  little  more  time.  Two  or 
three  days  will  set  you  up." 

"  Doctor,  I  cannot  understand  it  at  all ;  this  talk  about 
armies,  and  war,  and  wounds,  and  adjutants  —  what  does  it 
all  mean  ?  " 

"  You  must  not  try  to  know  everything  at  once.     I  think 
you  are  now  convinced  that  there  is  a  war  ? " 
■"  Yes." 

"  You  will  learn  all  about  it  very  soon,  perhaps  to-morrow ; 
it  ought  to  be  enough  for  you  to  know  that  your  country  is  in 
danger.     Are  you  a  patriot  ?  " 

"  I  trust  so." 

"  Well,  of  course  you  are.  Now  you  must  go  to  sleep.  You 
have  talked  long  enough.  Good  night.  I  will  send  William 
to  give  you  a  night-cap." 

******* 

The  next  morning  Dr.  Frost  expressed  great  satisfaction 
with  my  progress,  and  began,  almost  as  soon  as  I  had  eaten, 
to  gratify  my  curiosity. 

"  I  believe  that  you  confess  to  the  charge  of  being  a  patriot," 
said  he. 

"  I  trust  I  am,"  said  I. 

"  We  are  invaded.  Our  homes  are  destroyed.  Our  women 
are  insulted.  Our  men  are  slain.  The  enemy  is  before  our 
capital  and  hopes  to  conquer.     Can  you  hesitate  ?  " 

"I  should  not  hesitate  if  I  understood  as  you  understand. 
But  how  can  you  expect  me  to  kill  men  when  I  know  nothing 
of  the  merits  of  the  cause  for  which  I  am  told  to  fight  ?  " 

"Jones,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  and  so  far  as  the  govern- 
ment is  concerned,  your  question  is  hardly  pertinent.  You 
are  already  a  Confederate  soldier  by  your  own  free  act.     Your 


284  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

only  chance  to  keep  from  serving  is  to  get  yourself  killed, 
or  at  least  disabled ;  I  will  not  suggest  desertion.  For  your 
sake,  however,  I  am  ready  to  answer  any  question  you  may 
ask  about  the  causes  of  the  war.  You  ought  to  have  your 
nund  satisfied,  if  it  be  possible." 

"  What  are  they  fighting  about  ?  " 

"Do  you  recall  the  manner  in  which  the  United  States 
came  into  existence  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  said  I. 

"  Tell  me." 

"  The  colonies  rebelled  against  Great  Britain  and  won  their 
independence  in  war,"  said  I. 

"Well;  what  then?" 

"  The  colonies  sent  delegates  to  a  convention,  and  the  dele- 
gates framed  a  constitution." 

"  Well ;  what  then  ?  " 

"  The  colonies  agreed  to  abide  by  the  constitution." 

"That  is  to  say,  the  Colonies,  or  States,  ratified  the  action 
of  the  constitutional  convention  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes  ;  that  is  what  I  mean,"  said  I. 

"  Then  do  you  think  the  States  created  the  general  govern- 
ment ?     Think  a  little  before  you  answer." 

"  Why  should  I  think  ?     It  seems  plain  enough." 

"  Yet  I  will  present  an  alternative.  Did  the  States  create 
the  Federal  government,  or  did  the  people  of  the  whole  United 
States,  acting  as  a  body -politic,  create  it  ?  " 

"Your  alternative  seems  contradictory,"  said  I. 

"  In  what  respect  ?  " 

"  It  makes  the  United  States  exist  before  the  United  States 
came  into  existence,"  said  I. 

"  Then  what  would  your  answer  be  ?  " 

"  The  people  of  each  colony,  or  each  State  rather,  sent  dele- 
gates. The  delegates,  representing  the  respective  States, 
framed  the  constitution.  The  people,  if  I  mistake  not,  ratified 
the  constitution,  each  State  voting   separately.     Therefore  I 


ONE   MORE   CONFEDERATE  285 

think  that  the  United  States  government  is  a  creature  of  the 
States  and  not  of  the  people  as  a  body -politic  ;  for  there  could 
have  been  no  such  body-politic." 

"  Jones,  my  dear  fellow,  you  are  a  constitutional  lawyer ; 
you  ought  never  to  have  entered  military  service." 

"Besides,"  said  I,  "Rhode  Island  and  North  Carolina 
refused  for  a  time  to  enter  into  the  agreement." 

"And  suppose  they  had  refused  finally.  Would  the  other 
States  have  compelled  them  to  come  in  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  cannot  say  as  to  that,"  said  I. 

"Do  you  think  they  would  have  had  the  moral  right  to 
coerce  them  ?  " 

"  The  question  is  too  hard  for  me  to  answer,  Doctor  ;  I  can- 
not very  well  see  what  ought  to  have  been  done." 

"  The  two  States  would  have  had  some  rights  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  What  rights  would  the  United  States  have  had  over  the  two 
States  ?  " 

"I  do  not  think  the  Federal  government  would  have  had 
any ;  but  the  people  would  have  had  some  claim  —  what,  I 
cannot  say.  I  do  not  think  that  Rhode  Island  had  the  moral 
right  to  endanger  the  new  republic  by  refusing  to  enter  it. 
But  there  may  have  been  something  peculiar  in  Rhode  Island's 
situation  ;  I  do  not  remember.  I  should  say  that  the  question 
should  have  been  settled  by  compromise.  Rhode  Island's 
objections  should  have  been  considered  and  removed.  A  forced 
agreement  would  be  no  agreement." 

"When  the  States  formed  the  government,  did  they  sur- 
render all  their  rights  ?  " 

"  I  think  not." 

"  What  rights  did  they  retain  ?  " 

"  They  retained  everything  they  did  not  surrender." 

"  Well,  then,  what  did  they  surrender  ?  Did  they  become 
provinces  ?  Did  they  surrender  the  right  of  resistance  to 
usurpation  ?  " 


286  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

"I  think  not." 

"  Would  you  thitik  that  the  States  had  formed  a  partnership 
for  the  general  good  of  all  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  Doctor  ;  but  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  the  word 
'  partnership  '  is  the  correct  term." 

"  Shall  we  call  it  a  league  ?  A  compact  ?  A  federation  ? 
A  confederacy  ?  " 

"  I  should  prefer  the  word  '  union '  to  any  of  those,"  I  said. 
"  The  title  of  the  republic  means  a  union." 

"  What  is  the  difference  betAveen  a  union  and  a  confed- 
eracy ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  there  is  any  great  difference ;  but  the 
word  '  union  '  seems  to  me  to  imply  greater  permanence." 

"You  think,  then,  that  the  United  States  must  exist 
always  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  our  fathers  believed  that  they  were  acting  for 
all  time  —  so  far  as  they  could,"  said  I ;  "  but,  of  course,  there 
were  differences,  even  among  the  framers  of  the  constitution." 

"  Suppose  that  at  some  time  a  State  or  several  States  should 
believe  that  their  interests  were  being  destroyed  and  that 
injustice  was  being  done." 

"  The  several  branches  of  government  should  prevent  that," 
said  I. 

"  But  suppose  they  knew  that  all  the  branches  of  the  gov- 
ernment were  united  in  perpetrating  this  injustice." 

"  Then  I  do  not  know  what  such  States  ought  to  do,"  said  I. 

"  Suppose  Congress  was  against  them  ;  that  the  majority  in 
Congress  had  been  elected  by  their  opponents  ;  that  the  Presi- 
dent and  the  judges  were  all  against  them." 

"  The  will  of  the  majority  should  rule,"  said  I. 

"  Even  in  cases  where  not  only  life  and  liberty  but  honour 
itself  must  be  given  up  or  defended  ?  " 

"  Then  I  don't  know  what  they  ought  to  do,"  I  repeated. 

"  Ought  they  to  endure  tamely  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  what  their  recourse  would  be  I  cannot  justly  see ; 


ONE  MORE  CONFEDERATE  287 

it  seems  that  ttie  constitution  should  have  provided  some 
remedy." 

"  You  believe  in  the  right  to  revolt  against  tyranny  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  suppose  your  State  and  other  States,  her  neighbours, 
should  conclude  that  there  was  no  remedy  against  injustice 
except  in  withdrawing  from  the  partnership,  or  union." 

"I  should  say  that  would  be  a  very  serious  step  to  take, 
perhaps  a  dangerous  step,  perhaps  a  wrong  step,"  said  I.  "But 
I  am  no  judge  of  such  things.  It  seems  to  me  that  my  mind 
is  almost  blank  concerning  politics." 

"  Yes  ?  Well,  suppose,  however,  that  your  State  should 
take  that  step,  in  the  hope  that  she  would  be  allowed  to  with- 
draw in  peace ;  would  her  citizens  be  bound  by  her  action  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  South  Carolina,  you  say,  has  withdrawn ;  that 
being  the  case,  every  citizen  of  the  State  is  bound  by  her  act, 
as  long  as  he  remains  a  citizen." 

"  South  Carolina  has  withdrawn,  but  her  hope  for  a  peace- 
able withdrawal  is  met  by  United  States  armies  trying  to 
force  her  back  into  the  Union.  Under  these  circumstances, 
what  is  the  duty  of  a  citizen  of  South  Carolina  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  that  so  long  as  he  remains  a  citizen  of  the 
State,  he  must  obey  the  State.  He  must  obey  the  State,  or  get 
out  of  it." 

"And  if  he  gets  out  of  it,  must  he  join  the  armies  that  are 
invading  his  State  and  killing  his  neighbours  and  kinsmen  ?  " 

"  I  think  no  man  would  do  that." 

"  But  every  one  who  leaves  his  State  goes  over  to  the  enemies 
of  his  State,  at  -least  in  a  measure,  for  he  deprives  his  State 
of  his  help,  and  influences  others  to  do  as  he  has  done.  Do 
you  think  that  South  Carolina  should  allow  any  of  her  citizens 
to  leave  her  in  this  crisis  ?  " 

"No;  that  would  be  suicidal.  Every  one  unwilling  to  bear 
arms  would  thus  be  allowed  to  go." 

"  And  a  premium  would  be  put  upon  desertion  ?  " 


288  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"In  a  certain  sense  —  yes." 

"  Can  a  State's  duty  conflict  with  the  duty  of  her  citizens  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  hard  question,  Doctor ;  if  I  should  be  compelled 
to  reply,  I  should  say  no." 

"  Then  if  it  is  South  Carolina's  duty  to  call  you  into  military 
service,  is  it  not  your  duty  to  serve  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  have  you  shown  that  it  is  her  duty  to  make  me 
serve  ?  " 

"  That  brings  up  the  question  whether  it  is  a  citizen's  duty 
to  serve  his  country  in  a  wrong  cause,  and  you  have  already 
said  that  a  man  should  obey  her  laws  or  else  renounce  his  citi- 
zenship." 

''  Yes,  Doctor,  that  seems  the  only  alternative." 

"  Then  you  are  going  to  serve  again,  or  get  out  of  the  coun- 
try ?  " 

'*  You  are  putting  it  very  strongly.  Doctor ;  can  there  be  no 
exception  to  rules  ?  " 

"  The  only  exception  to  the  rule  is  that  the  alternative  does 
not  exist  in  time  of  war.  The  Confederate  States  have  called 
into  military  service  all  males  between  eighteen  and  forty-five. 
You  could  not  leave  the  country  —  excuse  me  for  saying  it ; 
I  speak  in  an  impersonal  sense  —  even  if  you  should  wish  to 
leave  it.  Every  man  is  held  subject  to  military  service  ;  as 
you  have  already  said,  the  State  would  commit  suicide  if  she 
renounced  the  population  from  which  she  gets  her  soldiers. 
But,  in  any  case,  what  would  you  do  if  you  were  not  forced 
into  service  ?  " 

"  I  am  helpless,"  I  said  gloomily. 

"  No ;  I  don't  want  you  to  look  at  it  in  that  way ;  you  are 
not  helpless.  What  I  have  already  suggested  will  relieve  you. 
We  can  attach  you  to  any  company  that  you  may  choose,  with 
the  condition  that  as  soon  as  your  friends  are  found  you  are  to 
be  handed  over  to  them  —  I  mean,  of  course,  handed  over  to 
your  original  company.  It  seems  to  me  that  such  a  course  is 
not  merely  the  best  thing  to  do,  but  the  only  thing  to  do." 


ONE   MORE  CONFEDERATE  289 

"  Doctor,"  said  I,  "  you  and  your  friends  are  placing  me 
under  very  heavy  obligations.  You  have  done  much  yourself, 
and  your  friends  show  me  kindness.  Perhaps  I  could  do  no 
better  than  to  ask  you  to  act  for  me.  I  know  the  delicacy  of 
your  offer.  Another  man  .might  have  refused  to  discuss  or 
explain ;  he  had  the  power  to  simply  order  me  back  into  the 
ranks." 

"No,"  said  he ;  "I  am  not  so  sure  that  any  such  power  could 
have  been  exercised.  To  order  you  back  into  the  ranks  is  not 
a  surgeon's  duty  to  his  patient.  There  seems  to  be  nothing 
whatever  in  the  army  regulations  applying  to  such  a  case  as 
youi's.  You  have  been  kept  here  without  authority,  except 
the  general  authority  which  empowers  the  surgeon  to  help  the 
wounded.  But  I  have  no  control  over  you  whatever.  If  you 
choose,  nobody  would  prevent  you  from  leaving  this  hospital. 
I  cannot  make  a  report  of  your  case  on  any  form  furnished  me. 
It  was  this  difficulty,  in  your  case,  that  made  me  beg  the  bri- 
gade adjutant  to  visit  you  ;  while  the  matter  is  irregular,  it  is, 
however,  known  at  brigade  headquarters,  so  that  it  is  in  as  good 
a  shape  as  we  know  how  to  put  it.  I  cannot  order  you  back 
into  the  ranks ;  you  would  not  know  what  to  do  with  your- 
self ;  what  I  suggest  will  relieve  you  from  any  danger  hereafter 
of  being  supposed  a  deserter ;  we  keep  trace  of  you  and  can 
prove  that  you  are  still  in  the  service  and  are  obeying  authority." 

"  That  settles  it ! "  I  exclaimed ;  "  I  had  not  thought  of  the 
possibility  of  being  charged  with  desertion." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  no  more  had  I  until  this  moment.  We 
must  get  authority  from  General  Hill  in  this  matter,  in  order 
to  protect  you  fully.  At  this  very  minute  no  doubt  your 
orderly-sergeant  and  the  adjutant  of  your  regiment  are  report- 
ing you  absent  without  leave.     I  must  quit  you  for  a  while." 

*  *  ^  "9?  'ff  tF  -Tr 

What  had  seemed  strangest  to  me  was  the  lack  of  desire, 
on  my  part,  to  find  my  company.  I  had  tried,  from  the  first 
moment  of   the  proposition  to  join   Company  H,  to   analyze 


290  WHO   GOES  THEKE  ? 

this  reluctance  in  regard  to  my  original  company,  and  had 
at  last  confessed  to  myself  that  it  was  due  to  exaggerated 
sensitiveness.  Who  were  the  men  of  my  company  ?  should  I 
recognize  them  ?  No ;  they  would  know  me,  but  I  should  not 
know  them.  This  thought  had  been  strong  in  holding  me 
back  from  yielding  to  the  doctor's  views;  I  had  an  almost 
morbid  dread  of  being  considered  a  curiosity.  So,  I  did  not 
want  to  go  back  to  my  company ;  and  as  for  going  into  Captain 
Haskell's  company,  I  considered  that  project  but  a  temporary 
expedient — my  people  would  soon  be  found  and  I  should  be 
forced  back  where  I  belonged  and  be  pointed  out  forever  as 
a  freak.  So  I  wanted  to  keep  out  of  Company  H  and  out  of 
every  other  company  ;  I  wanted  to  go  away  —  to  do  something 
—  anything  —  no  matter  what,  if  it  would  only  keep  me  from 
being  advertised  and  gazed  upon. 

Such  had  been  my  thoughts ;  but  now,  when  Dr.  Frost 
had  brought  before  me  the  probability  of  my  being  already 
reported  absent  without  leave,  and  the  consequent  possibility 
of  being  charged  with  desertion,  I  decided  at  once  that  I 
should  go  with  Captain  Haskell.  Whatever  I  might  once 
have  been,  and  whatever  I  might  yet  become,  I  was  not 
and  never  should  be  a  deserter. 

When  I  next  saw  Dr.  Frost  I  asked  him  when  I  should 
be  strong  enough  for  duty. 

"  You  are  fit  for  duty  now,"  said  he  ;  ''  that  is,  you  are 
strong  enough  to  march  in  case  the  army  should  move.  I  do 
not  intend,  however,  to  let  you  go  at  once,  unless  there  should 
be  a  movement ;  in  that  case  I  could  not  well  keep  you  any 
longer." 

I  replied  that  if  I  was  strong  enough  to  do  duty,  I  did  not 
wish  to  delay.  To  this  he  responded  that  he  would  ask  Captain 
Haskell  to  enroll  me  in  his  company  at  once,  but  to  consider 
me  on  the  sick  list  for  a  few  days,  in  order  that  I  might  accus- 
tom myself  gradually  to  new  conditions. 


XXII 

C0MPA2JT   H 

*'Iri  strange  eyes 
Have  made  me  not  a  stranger  ;  to  the  mind 
Which  is  itself,  no  changes  bring  surprise  ; 
Nor  is  it  hard  to  make,  nor  hard  to  find 
A  country  with  —  ay,  or  without  mankind."  —  Byron. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  day  in  which  occurred  the  conversa- 
tion recounted  above,  I  was  advised  by  the  doctor  to  take  a 
short  walk. 

From  a  hill  just  in  rear  of  the  hospital  tents  I  could  see 
northward  and  toward  the  east  long  lines  of  earthworks  with 
tents  and  cannon,  and  rows  of  stacked  muskets  and  all  the 
appliances  of  war.  The  sight  was  new  and  strange.  I  had 
never  before  seen  at  one  time  more  than  a  battalion  of  soldiers  ; 
now  here  was  an  army  into  which  I  had  been  suddenly  thrust 
as  a  part  of  it,  without  experience  of  any  sort  and  without 
knowledge  of  anybody  in  it  except  two  or  three  persons  whom, 
three  days  before,  I  had  never  heard  of.  The  worthiness  of 
the  cause  for  which  this  great  army  had  been  created  to  fight, 
was  not  entirely  clear  to  me;  it  is  true  that  I  appreciated 
the  fact  that  in  former  days,  before  my  misfortune  had  de- 
prived me  of  data  upon  which  to  reason,  I  had  decided  m}^ 
duty  as  to  that  cause ;  yet  it  now  appealed  to  me  so  little,  that 
I  was  conscious  of  struggling  to  rise  above  indifference.  I 
reproached  myself  for  lack  of  patriotism.  I  had  read  the 
morning's  Dispatch  and  had  been  shocked  at  the  relation  of 
some  harrowing  details  of  pillage  and  barbarity  on  the  part 
of  the  Yankees ;  yet  I  felt  nothing  of  individnal  anger  against 

291 


292  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

the  wretches  when  I  condemned  such  conduct,  and  my  judg- 
ment told  me  that  my  passionless  indignation  ought  to  be  hot. 
But  this  peculiarity  seemed  so  unimportant  in  comparison 
with  the  greater  one  which  marked  me,  that  it  gave  me  no 
concern. 

In  an  open  space  near  by,  many  soldiers  were  drilling.  The 
drum  and  the  fife  could  be  heard  in  all  directions.  Wagons 
were  coming  and  going.  A  line  of  unarmed  men,  a  thousand, 
I  guessed,  marched  by,  going  somewhere.  They  had  no 
uniform ;  I  supposed  they  were  recruits.  A  group  of  mounted 
men  attracted  me;  I  had  little  doubt  that  here  was  some 
general  with  his  staff.  Flags  were  everywhere  —  red  flags, 
with  diagonal  crosses  marked  by  stars. 

A  man  came  toward  me.  His  clothing  was  somewhat  like 
my  own.  I  started  to  go  away,  but  he  spoke  up,  "  Hold  on, 
my  friend ! " 

He  was  of  low  stature,  —  a  thick-set  man,  brown  bearded. 

When  he  was  nearer,  he  asked,  "Do  you  know  where 
Gregg's  brigade  is  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  do  not,"  said  I ;  "  but  you  can  find  out  down  there  at 
the  hospital  tents,  I  suppose." 

"  I  was  told  that  the  brigade  is  on  the  line  somewhere  about 
here,"  said  he. 

"  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  tent,"  said  I. 

"  I  belong  to  the  First,"  he  said,  "  I've  been  absent  for  some 
days  on  duty,  and  am  just  getting  back  to  my  company.  Who 
is  in  charge  of  the  hospital  ?  " 

"  Dr.  Frost,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  Frank  ?  "  said  he ;  "  I'll  call  on  him,  then.  He  was 
our  orderly-sergeant." 

By  this  speech  I  knew  that  he  was  one  of  Captain  Haskell's 
men,  and  I  looked  at  him  more  closely ;  he  had  a  very  pleas- 
ant face.  1  wanted  to  ask  him  about  Company  H,  but  feared 
to  say  anything,  lest  he  should  afterward,  when  I  joined  the 
company,  recognize   me   and   be   curious.     However,  I   knew 


COMPANY  H  293 

that  my  face,  bound  up  as  my  head  was,  would  hardly  become 
familiar  to  him  in  a  short  time,  and  I  risked  saying  that  I 
understood  that  Dr.  Frost  had  been  orderly-sergeant  in  some 
company  or  other. 

"  Yes  ;  Company  H,"  said  he. 

"  That  must  be  a  good  company,  as  it  turns  out  surgeons." 

"Yes,  and  it  turns  out  adjutants  and  adjutant-generals," 
said  he. 

"  You  like  your  company  ?  " 

''Yes,  and  I  like  its  captain.  I  suppose  every  man  likes 
his  own  company ;  I  should  hate  to  be  in  any  other.  Have 
you  been  sick  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  "  my  head  received  an  injurj^,  but  I  am  bet- 
ter now." 

"  You  couldn't  be  under  better  care,"  said  he. 

When  we  had  reached  the  tent,  Dr.  Frost  was  not  to  be 
seen. 

"  I'll  wait  and  see  him,"  said  the  man ;  "  he  is  not  far  off,  I 
reckon,  and  I  know  that  the  brigade  must  be  close  by.  What 
regiment  do  you  belong  to  ?  " 

The  question  was  torture.  What  I  should  have  said  I  do 
not  know ;  to  my  intense  relief,  and  before  the  man  had  seen 
my  hesitation,  he  cried,  "  There  he  is  now,"  and  went  up  to 
the  doctor ;  they  shook  hands.  I  besought  the  doctor,  with  a 
look,  not  to  betray  me ;  he  understood,  and  nodded. 

The  man,  whom  Dr.  Frost  had  called  Bellot,  asked,  "  Where 
is  the  regiment  ?  " 

"  Three-quarters  of  a  mile  northwest,"  said  the  doctor,  and 
Bellot  soon  went  off. 

"  I'm  a  little  sorry  that  he  saw  you,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  for 
you  and  he  are  going  to  be  good  friends.  If  he  remembers 
meeting  you  here  to-day,  he  may  be  curious  when  he  sees  you 
in  Company  H ;  but  we'll  hope  for  the  best." 

"  I  hope  to  be  very  greatly  changed  in  appearance  before  he 
sees  me  again,"  said  I,  looking  down  on  my  garments,  which 


294  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

were  very  ragged,  and  seemed  to  have  been  soaked  in  nmddy 
water,  and  thinking  of  my  strange  unshaven  face  and  ban- 
daged head ;  "  I  must  become  indebted  to  you  for  something 
besides  your  professional  skill,  Doctor." 

"With  great  pleasure,  Jones;  you  shall  have  everything 
you  want,  if  I  can  get  it  for  you.  I've  seen  Captain  Haskell ; 
he  says  that  he  will  not  come  again,  but  he  bids  you  be  easy ; 
he  will  make  your  first  service  as  light  as  possible  and  will 
.  .  .  wait !  I  wonder  if  you  have  forgotten  your  drill ! " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  military  drill,"  I  said,  "  and  never 
did  know  anything  about  it." 

"You  will  be  convinced,  shortly,  that  you  did,"  said  he; 
"you  may  have  lost  it  mentally,  but  your  muscles  haven't 
forgotten.  In  three  days  under  old  John  Wilson,  I'll  bet  you 
are  ready  for  every  manceuvre.  Just  get  you  started  on  '  Load 
in  nine  times  load,'  and  you'll  do  eight  of  'em  without  reflec- 
tion." 

"  If  I  do,  I  shall  be  willing  to  confess  to  anything,"  said  I. 

"  Here,  now ;  stand  there  —  so !     Now  —  Right  —  Face  ! " 

I  did  not  budge,  but  stood  stiff. 

"  When  I  say  '  Right  —  Face,'  you  do  so,^^  said  he. 

"  Right  —  Face  !  " 

I  imitated  the  surgeon. 

"  Front  !— that's  right  —  Le/if  —  Face  !  That's  good — 
Front  !  —  all  right ;  now  again  —  Right  —  Face  !  —  Front  !  — 
Left  —  Face  !  —  Front  !  —  About  —  put  your  right  heel  so 
—  Face!  Ah!  you've  lost  that;  well,  never  mind;  it  will  all 
come  back.  I  tell  you  what,  I've  drilled  old  Company  H 
many  a  day." 

I  really  began  to  believe  that  Surgeon  Frost  had  an  affection 
for  me,  though,  of  course,  his  affection  was  based  on  a  sense  of 
proprietorship  acquired  through  discovery,  so  to  speak. 

After  supper  he  said :  "  You  are  strong  enough  to  go  with 
me  to  Company  H.     We'll  drive  over  in  an  ambulance." 

From  points  on  the  road  we  saw  long  lines  of  camp-fires. 


COMPANY  H  296 

On  the  crest  of  a  hill,  the  doctor  pointed  to  the  east,  where 
the  clouds  were  aglow  with  light.    "  McClellan's  army/'  said  he. 

"  Whose  army  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  McClellan's ;  the  Yankee  army  under  McClellan." 

"  Oh,  yes  !     I  read  the  name  in  the  paper  to-day,"  said  I. 

"  He  has  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  men,"  said  he. 

"  And  their  camp-fires  make  all  that  light  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  and  I  suppose  ours  look  that  way  to  them." 

Captain  Haskell's  company  was  without  shelter,  except 
such  as  the  men  had  improvised,  as  the  doctor  said ;  here  and 
there  could  be  seen  a  blanket  or  piece  of  canvas  stretched 
on  a  pole,  and,  underneath,  a  bed  of  straw  large  enough  for  a 
man.  Brush  arbours  abounded.  The  Captain  himself  had  no 
tent ;  we  found  him  sitting  with  his  back  to  a  tree  near  which 
was  his  little  fly  stretched  over  his  sleeping-place.  Several 
officers  were  around  him.  He  shook  the  doctor's  hand,  but  said 
nothing  to  me.     The  officers  left  us. 

"  I  have  brought  Jones  over,  Captain,"  said  the  surgeon, 
"  that  you  may  tell  him  personally  of  your  good  intentions  in 
regard  to  his  first  service  with  you.    He  wishes  to  be  enrolled." 

"  If  Private  Jones  —  "  began  the  Captain. 

"  My  name  is  Berwick  —  Jones  Berwick,"  I  said. 

"  There's  another  strange  notion,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  you've 
got  the  cart  before  the  horse." 

"No,  Doctor,"  I  insisted  earnestly;  "my  name  is  Jones 
Berwick." 

"  We  have  it  '  B.  Jones,'  "  said  the  doctor ;  "  and  I  am  certain 
it  is  written  that  way  in  your  diary.  If  you  are  Private  Ber- 
wick instead  of  Private  Jones,  no  wonder  that  nobody  claims 
you." 

"  I  know  that  my  surname  is  Berwick,  but  I  know  nothing 
of  Private  Berwick,"  said  I. 

"  Well,"  said  Captain  Haskell,  "  if  you  have  got  your  name 
reversed,  that  is  a  small  matter  which  will  straighten  itself  out 
when  you  recover  your  memory.     What  I  was  going  to  say  is, 


296  WHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

that  you  may  be  received  into  my  company  as  a  recruit,  as  it 
were,  but  to  be  returned  to  your  original  company  whenever 
we  learn  what  company  that  is.  We  will  continue,  through 
brigade  headquarters,  to  try  to  find  out  what  regiment  you  are 
from  —  and  under  both  of  your  names.  While  you  are  with 
me  I  shall  cheerfully  do  for  you  all  that  I  can  to  favour  your 
condition.  You  will  be  expected,  however,  to  do  a  man's  full 
duty ;  I  can  stand  no  shirking." 

The  Captain's  tone  was  far  different  from  that  he  had  used 
toward  me  in  the  tent;  his  voice  was  stern  and  his  manner 
frigid. 

"  We  will  take  the  best  care  of  you  that  we  can,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  and  will  keep  to  ourselves  the  peculiar  circumstances 
of  your  case ;  for  I  can  well  understand,  although  you  have  said 
nothing  about  it,  sir,  that  you  do  not  wish  confidences." 

His  tone  and  manner  were  again  those  of  our  first  interview. 

"  Captain,"  I  said,  "  I  know  nothing  of  military  life." 

"  So  we  take  you  as  a  new  man,"  said  he,  adopting  anew  his 
official  voice,  "  and  we  shall  not  expect  more  of  you  than  of  an 
ordinary  recruit ;  we  shall  teach  you.  If  you  enroll  with  me,  I 
shall  at  once  make  a  requisition  for  your  arms  and  accoutre- 
ments, your  knapsack,  uniform,  and  everything  else  necessary 
for  you.  You  may  remain  in  the  hospital  until  your  equip- 
ment is  ready  for  you.  Report  to  me  day  after  to-morrow  at 
noon,  and  I  will  receive  you  into  my  company.  Now,  Frank, 
excuse  me  ;  it  is  time  for  prayers." 

The  men  gathered  around  us.  Captain  Haskell  held  a 
prayer-book  in  his  hand.  A  most  distinguished-looking  officer, 
whose  name  the  doctor  told  me  was  Lieutenant  Barnwell,  stood 
near  with  a  torch.  Some  of  the  men  heard  the  prayer  kneel- 
ing ;  others  stood  with  bowed  heads. 

The  Captain  began  to  read :  — 

"0  God,  from  whom  all  holy  desires,  all  good  counsels,  and  all  just 
works  do  proceed,  give  unto  Thy  servants  that  peace  which  the  world 
cannot  give  ;  that  our  hearts  may  be  set  to  do  Thy  commandments,  and 


COMPANY  H  297 

also  that  by  Thee,  we,  being  defended  from  the  fear  of  our  enemies,  may 
pass  our  time  in  rest  and  quietness,  through  the  merits  of  Jesus  Christ 
our  Saviour. 

"  0  Lord,  our  heavenly  Father,  by  whose  almighty  power  we  have  been 
preserved  this  day ;  by  Thy  great  mercy  defend  us  from  all  perils  and 
dangers  of  this  night,  for  the  love  of  Thy  only  Son,  our  Saviour,  Jesus 
Christ. 

*'  0  Lord,  our  heavenly  Father,  the  high  and  mighty  Ruler  of  the  Uni- 
verse, who  dost  from  Thy  throne  behold  all  the  dwellers  upon  earth, 
most  heartily  we  beseech  Thee  with  Thy  favour  to  behold  and  bless  Thy 
servant  the  President  of  the  Confederate  States,  and  all  others  in  author- 
ity ;  and  so  replenish  them  with  the  grace  of  Thy  Holy  Spirit  that  they 
may  always  incline  to  Thy  will,  and  walk  in  Thy  way.  Endue  them 
plenteously  with  heavenly  gifts,  grant  them  in  health  and  prosperity  long 
to  live  ;  and  finally,  after  this  life,  to  attain  everlasting  joy  and  felicity, 
through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord. 

"  0  God,  the  Creator  and  Preserver  of  all  mankind,  we  humbly  beseech 
Thee  for  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  ;  that  Thou  wouldst  be  pleased 
to  make  Thy  ways  known  unto  them.  Thy  saving  health  to  all  nations. 
More  especially  we  pray  for  Thy  holy  church  universal,  that  it  may  be 
so  guided  and  governed  by  Thy  good  Spirit,  that  all  who  profess  and  call 
themselves  Christians  may  be  led  into  the  way  of  truth,  and  hold  the  faith 
in  unity  of  spirit,  in  the  bond  of  peace,  and  in  righteousness  of  life. 
Finally,  we  commend  to  Thy  fatherly  goodness  all  who  are  in  any  ways 
afflicted  or  distressed  in  mind,  body,  or  estate,  that  it  may  please  Thee 
to  comfort  and  relieve  them,  according  to  their  several  necessities,  giving 
them  patience  under  their  sufferings,  and  a  happy  issue  out  of  all  their 
afflictions.     And  this  we  beg  for  Christ's  sake.     Amen." 

While  this  impressive  scene  had  lasted  I  stood  in  the  dark- 
ness outside  of  the  group  of  men,  fearing  to  be  closely- 
observed. 

Here  was  a  man  whom  one  could  surely  trust ;  he  was 
strong  and  he  was  good.  I  began  to  feel  glad  that  I  was 
to  be  under  him  instead  of  another.  I  was  lucky.  But  for 
Dr.  Frost  and  Captain  Haskell,  I  should  be  without  a 
friend  in  the  world.  Another  surgeon  might  have  sent  me 
to  the  general  hospital,  whence  I  should  have  been  remanded 
to  duty ;  and  failing  to  know  my  regiment,  I  should  have  been 


298  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

apprehended  as  a  deserter.  At  the  best,  even  if  other  people 
had  recognized  the  nature  of  my  trouble,  I  should  have  been 
subjected  then  and  always  to  the  vulgar  curiosity  which  I  so 
greatly  dreaded.  Here  in  Company  H  nobody  would  know 
me  except  as  an  ordinary  recruit. 

The  men  of  Company  H  scattered.  I  walked  up  to  the  Cap- 
tain and  said,  "  Captain  Haskell,  I  shall  be  proud  to  serve 
under  you." 

"  Jones,"  said  he,  "  we  will  not  conclude  this  matter  until 
Dr.  Erost  sends  you  to  me.  It  is  possible  that  you  will 
find  your  own  company  at  any  day,  or  you  may  decide  to 
serve  elsewhere,  even  if  you  do  not  find  it.  You  are  not 
under  my  orders  until  j^ou  come  to  me." 

As  we  were  returning  to  the  hospital,  the  doctor  asked  me 
seriously,  "  You  insist  that  your  name  is  Jones  Berwick  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Doctor ;  my  surname  is  Berwick,  and  my  first  name 
is  Jones.     How  did  you  get  my  name  reversed  ?  " 

"  On  the  diary  taken  from  your  pocket  your  name  is  written 
'  B.  Jones,'  "he  said. 

"  Will  yovi  let  me  see  the  diary  ?  " 

*'I  will  give  it  to  you  as  soon  as  we  get  to  our  camp.  I 
ought  to  have  done  so  before." 

The  diary  that  the  doctor  gave  me  —  I  have  it  yet  —  is  a 
small  blank  book  for  the  pocket,  with  date  headings  for  the 
year  1862.  Only  a  very  few  dates  in  this  book  are  filled  with 
writing.  On  the  fly-leaf  is  "  B.  Jones,"  and  nothing  more,  the 
leaf  below  the  name  having  been  all  torn  away.  The  writing 
begins  on  May  23d,  and  ends  with  May  27th.  The  writing 
has  been  done  with  a  pencil.  I  copy  below  all  that  the  book 
contains  :  — 

"  Friday,  May  23,  1862. 
"Arrived  after  furlough.     Drilled  a.m.  and  p.m.     Weather  clear." 

"Saturday,  May  24,  1862. 
"  On  camp  guard.    Letters  from  home.    Showers.    Marched  at  night." 


COMPANY  H  299 

"Sdnday,  May  25,  1862. 
"  Marched  all  day.    Bivouacked  in  woods  at  night." 

"  Monday,  May  26,  1862. 

"  Marched  but  a  few  miles.  Weather  bad.  Day  very  hot.  Heavy  rain 
at  night. ' ' 

"Tuesday,  May  27,  1862. 

"Rain.  Heard  a  battle  ahead.  Marched  past  Branch's  brigade,  that 
had  been  fighting." 

Each  page  in  the  book  is  divided  into  three  sections. 

After  reading  and  rereading  the  writing  again  and  again,  I 
said  to  the  surgeon,  "  Doctor,  I  find  it  ahnost  impossible  to 
believe  that  I  ever  wrote  this.  It  looks  like  my  writing,  but 
I  am  certain  that  I  could  not  have  written  B.  Jones  as  my 
name." 

The  Doctor  smiled  and  handed  me  a  pencil.  "ISTow,"  said  he, 
"■  take  this  paper  and  write  at  my  dictation." 

He  then  read  slowly  the  note  under  May  27th:  "Rain. 
Heard  a  battle  ahead.  Marched  past  Branch's  brigade,  that 
had  been  fighting." 

"  iSTow  let  us  compare  them,"  said  he. 

The  handwriting  in  the  book  was  similar  to  that  on  the  paper. 

"  Well,"  said  Dr.  Frost,  "  do  you  still  think  your  name  is 
Jones  Berwick  ?  " 

"  I  know  it,"  I  said ;  "  that  is  one  of  the  things  that  I  do 
know." 

"And  if  your  handwriting  had  not  resembled  that  of  the 
book,  what  would  you  have  said  ?  " 

"  That  the  book  was  never  mine,  of  course." 

"  Yet  that  would  have  been  no  proof  at  all,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  jMany  cases  have  been  known  of  patients  whose  handwriting 
had  changed  completely.  The  truth  is,  that  I  did  not  expect 
to  see  you  write  as  you  did  just  now." 

"  My  name  is  Jones  Berwick,"  was  my  reply. 


300  WHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

"  Strange ! "  said  lie ;  "  I  would  bet  a  golden  guinea  that 
your  name  is  Berwick  Jones.  Some  people  cannot  remember 
their  names  at  all  —  any  part  of  their  names.  Others  see  blue 
for  red.  Others  do  this  and  do  that ;  there  seems  to  be  no 
limit  to  the  vagaries  of  the  mind.  I'd  rather  risk  that  signa- 
ture which  you  made  before  you  were  hurt." 

"  My  name  is  Jones  Berwick,  Doctor.  This  signature  can- 
not be  trusted.  It  is  full  of  suspicion.  Don't  you  see  that  all 
the  lower  part  of  the  leaf  has  been  torn  off  ?  What  was  it  torn 
off  for  ?  Why,  of  course,  to  destroy  the  name  of  the  regiment 
to  which  the  owner  belonged !  B.  Jones  is  common  enough  ; 
Jones  Berwick  is  not  so  common.  I  found  it,  or  else  it  got 
into  my  pocket  by  mistake.  No  wonder  that  a  man  named 
Jones  is  not  called  for." 

"  But,  Jones,  how  can  you  account  for  the  writing,  which  is 
identical  ?  Even  if  we  say  that  the  signature  is  wrong,  still 
we  cannot  account  for  the  rest  unless  you  wrote  it.  It  is  very 
romantic,  and  all  that,  to  say  that  somebody  imitated  your 
handwriting  in  the  body  of  the  book,  but  it  is  very  far-fetched. 
Find  some  other  theory." 

"  But  see  how  few  dates  are  filled !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Yet  the  writing  itself  accounts  for  that.  On  May  twenty- 
third  you  began.  You  tell  us  that  you  had  just  returned  from 
home,  where  you  had  been  on  furlough.  You  left  your  former 
diary,  if  you  had  kr  pt  one,  at  home.  You  end  on  May  twenty- 
seventh,  just  a  few  days  ago." 

"  My  name  is  Jones  Berwick,"  I  said. 

"  By  the  by,  let  me  see  that  book  a  moment." 

I  handed  it  to  him. 

"  No ;  no  imprint,  or  else  it  has  been  torn  out,"  he  said ;  "  I 
wanted  to  see  who  printed  it." 

"  What  would  that  have  shown  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  expected  to  find  that  it  was  printed  in  Rich- 
mond, or  perhaps  Charleston;  it  would  have  proved  nothing, 
however." 


COMPANY  H  301 

"  My  name  is  Jones  Berwick,  Doctor." 

"  Well,  so  be  it !  We  must  please  the  children.  I  shall 
make  inquiries  for  the  regiment  and  company  from  which 
Jones  Berwick  is  missing.     Now  do  you  go  to  bed  and  go  to 

sleep." 

******* 

The  next  morning  I  borrowed  the  doctor's  shaving  appli- 
ances. 

The  last  feeble  vestige  of  doubt  now  vanished  forever.  The 
face  I  saw  in  the  glass  was  not  my  face.  It  was  the  face  of  a 
man  at  least  ten  years  older.  Needless  to  describe  it,  if  I 
could. 

After  I  had  completed  the  labour,  —  a  perilous  and  painful 
duty, — I  made  a  different  appearance,  and  felt  better,  not 
only  on  account  of  the  physical  change,  but  also,  I  suppose, 
because  my  mind  was  now  settled  upon  myself  as  a  volunteer 
soldier. 

Dr.  Frost  had  told  me  that  the  two  Bellots  were  coming 
to  see  me ;  Captain  Haskell  had  asked  them  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  a  man  who  would  probably  join  their  com- 
pany. I  begged  the  doctor  to  give  them  no  hint  of  the  truth. 
He  replied  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  keep  them  in  the  dark, 
for  they  wouldn't  see  why  a  man,  already  wearing  uniform, 
should  offer  himself  as  a  member  of  Company  H. 

"  I  think  we'd  better  take  them  into  our  conspiracy,"  said 
he. 

To  this  I  made  strong  objection.  I  would  take  no  such 
risk.  "  If  I  had  any  money,"  I  said,  "  I  should  certainly 
buy  other  clothing." 

"  Well,  does  the  wind  sit  there  ?  "  said  he ;  "  you  have 
money  ;  lots  of  it." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  There  was  money  in  your  pocket  when  you  w^ere  brought 
to  me ;  besides,  the  government  gives  a  bounty  of  fifty  dol- 
lars to  every  volunteer.     Your  bounty  will  purchase  clothing, 


302  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

if  you  are  determined  to  squander  your  estate.  Captain  Has- 
kell would  be  able  to  secure  you  Avhat  you  want ;  your  bounty 
is  good  for  it." 

"  But  I  have  no  right  to  the  bounty,"  said  I. 

"Fact!"  said  he;  "you  see  how  I  fell  into  the  trap?  I 
was  thinking,  for  the  moment,  from  your  standpoint,  and  you 
turned  the  tables  on  me.  Yes ;  you  have  already  received  the 
bounty  ;  maybe  you  haven't  yet  spent  it,  though.  I'll  look 
up  the  contents  of  your  pockets ;  I  hope  nothing's  been  lost." 

He  rummaged  in  a  chest  and  brought  out  a  knife  and  a 
pencil,  as  well  as  a  leather  purse,  which  proved  to  contain 
thirty  dollars  in  Coirfederate  notes,  a  ten-dollar  note  of  the 
bank  of  Hamburg,  South  Carolina,  and  more  than  four  dollars 
in  silver. 

"I  did  not  know  you  were  so  rich,"  said  Dr.  Frost;  "now 
what  do  you  want  to  do  with  all  that  ?  " 

"  I  want  a  suit  of  old  clothes,"  I  said. 

"  Why  old  ?  " 

"  Because  I  shall  soon  be  compelled  to  throw  it  away." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  he ;  "  you  can  pack  it  up  and  leave  it ; 
if  we  march,  it  will  be  taken  care  of.  Get  some  cheap,  cool, 
summer  stuff ;  I  know  what  to  do.  How  you  held  on  to  that 
silver  so  long  is  a  mystery." 

The  doctor  wrote  a  note  to  somebody  in  Richmond,  and  be- 
fore the  Bellots  came  in  the  late  afternoon  I  was  prepared 
for  them.  The  elder  Bellot  had  already  seen  me,  but  in  my 
civilian's  garb  he  did  not  seem  to  recognize  me.  The  younger 
Bellot  was  a  handsome  man,  fully  six  feet,  with  a  slight  stoop ; 
I  never  saw  more  kindly  eyes  or  a  better  face ;  he,  too,  wore  a 
full  beard.  His  name  was  Louis,  yet  his  brother  called  him 
Joe.     I  took  a  liking  to  both  Dave  and  Joe. 

The  talk  was  almost  entirely  about  the  war.  I  learned  that 
the  regiment  Avas  the  first  ever  formed  in  the  South.  It  had 
been  a  State  regiment  before  the  Confederate  States  had 
existed  —  that  is  to  say,  it  had  been  organized  by  South  Caro- 


COMPANY  H  303 

Una  alone,  before  any  other  State  had  seceded;  it  had  seen 
service  on  the  islands  near  Charleston. 

A  great  deal  of  the  talk  was  worse  than  Greek  to  me.  Dave 
Bellot,  especially,  gave  me  credit  for  knowing  a  thousand 
things  of  which  I  was  utterly  ignorant,  and  I  was  on  thorns 
all  the  time. 

"  Yes,"  says  he ;  "  you  know  all  about  Charleston,  I  reckon." 

"  No,"  I  said ;  '''  I  know  very  little  about  it.  I've  been  there, 
but  I  am  not  familiar  with  the  city." 

"Well,  you  know  Sullivan's  Island  and  Fort  Moultrie." 

Now,  by  some  odd  chance,  I  did  remember  the  name  of 
Moultrie,  and  I  nodded  assent. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "■  the  First,  or  part  of  it,  went  under  the 
guns  of  Sumter  on  the  morning  of  January  ninth,  just  an  hour 
after  the  Cadets  had  fired  on  the  Star  of  the  West  ;  we  thought 
Sumter  would  sink  us,  but  she  didn't  say  a  word." 

I  was  silent,  through  fear  of  self-betrayal.  Why  it  was  that 
these  men  had  not  asked  me  about  my  home,  was  puzzling  me. 
Momentarily  I  expected  either  of  them  to  blurt  out,  "Where 
are  you  from  ?  "  and  I  had  no  answer  ready.  Afterward  I 
learned  that  I  was  already  known  as  an  Aiken  man,  in  default 
of  better,  —  the  doctor  having  considerately  relieved  me  from 
anticipated  danger. 

"  After  the  bombardment,  the  First  was  transferred  to  the 
Confederate  service.  It  had  enlisted  for  six  months,  and  its 
time  expired  in  June.  It  was  in  Virginia  then.  It  was  paid 
up  and  discharged,  and  at  once  reorganized  under  the  same 
field-officers." 

I  did  not  very  well  know  what  a  field-officer  is. 

"  Who  is  the  colonel  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Colonel  Hamilton,"  said  he ;  "  or  Old  Headquarters,  as  I 
called  him  once  in  his  own  hearing.  We  were  at  Suffolk  in 
winter  quarters,  and  it  was  the  day  for  general  inspection  of 
the  camp.  We  had  scoured  our  tin  plates  and  had  made  up  our 
bunks  and  washed  up  generally,  and  every  man  was  ready ; 


304  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

but  we  got  tired  of  waiting.  I  had  my  back  to  the  door,  and 
I  said  to  Josey,  *  Sergeant,  I  wonder  when  Old  Headquarters 
will  be  here.'  You  never  were  so  scared  in  your  life  as  I  was 
when  I  heard  a  loud  voice  at  the  door  say,  '  Headquarters  are 
here  now,  sir  ! '  and  the  colonel  walked  in." 

I  attempted  appropriate  laughter,  and  asked,  "  Where  is 
Suffolk  ?  " 

"  Down  near  Norfolk.  General  Gregg  was  our  first  colonel. 
He  was  in  the  Mexican  war,  and  is  a  fine  officer ;  deaf  as  a 
door-post,  though.     He  conimands  our  brigade  now." 

"  Where  did  you  go  from  Suffolk  ?  " 

"  To  Goldsborough." 

«  Where  is  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"North  Carolina.  You  remember,  when  Burnside  took 
Roanoke  Island  it  was  thought  that  he  would  advance  to  take 
the  Weldon  and  Wilmington  railroad ;  we  were  sent  to  Golds- 
borough,  and  were  brigaded  with  some  tar-heel  regiments  under 
Anderson.  Then  Anderson  and  the  lot  of  us  were  sent  to 
Fredericksburg.  We  were  not  put  under  Gregg  again  until 
we  reached  Richmond." 

"  How  many  regiments  are  in  the  brigade  ?  " 

"  Five,  —  the  First,  Twelfth,  Thirteenth,  Fourteenth,  and 
Orr's  Rifles." 

"All  from  South  Carolina?  " 

"  Yes." 

"From  Fredericksburg  we  marched  down  here,"  observed 
Joe. 

"Yes,"  said  Dave;  "and  not  more  than  a  week  ago.  We 
came  very  near  getting  into  it  at  Hanover,  where  Branch  got 
torn  up  so." 

"  Where  is  Hanover  ?  "  I  asked. 

"About  twenty  miles  north,"  he  replied.  "I  thought  we 
were  sure  to  get  into  that  fight,  but  we  were  too  late  for  it." 

The  Bellots  were  very  willing  to  give  me  all  information. 
They  especially  sounded  the  praises  of  their  young  Captain, 


COMPANY  H  305 

and  declared  tliat  I  was  fortunate  in  joining  their  company 
instead  of  some  others  which  they  could  name. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  concerning  my  prior  experience. 
I  flattered  myself  with  the  belief  that  they  thought  me  a 
raw  recruit  influenced  by  some  acquaintanceship  with  Dr. 
Frost. 

Before  they  left,  Joe  Bellot  said  a  word  privately  to  his 
brother,  and  then  turned  to  me.  "By  the  way,"  said  he, 
"  do  you  know  anybody  in  the  company  ?  " 

"Not  a  sonl  except  Captain  Haskell,"  I  replied.  "I  am 
simply  relying  on  Dr.  Frost;  I  am  going  to  join  some 
company,  and  I  rely  on  his  judgment  more  than  on  my 
own." 

"Well,  we'll  see  you  through,"  said  he.  "Join  our  mess 
until  you  can  do  better." 

I  replied,  with  true  thankfulness,  that  I  should  be  glad 
to  accept  his  offer. 

"  Did  you  see  the  morning  papers  ?  "  asked  the  elder  Bellot. 
I  was  walking  a  short  way  with  the  brothers  as  they  returned 
to  their  camp.     "  No,"  said  I. 

"It  contains  a  terrible  account  of  the  Yankees'  method  of 
warfare." 

"  What  are  they  doing  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Inciting  the  slaves  to  insurrection  and  organizing  them 
into  regiments  of  Federal  soldiers,  Butler,  in  command  at 
New  Orleans,  has  several  regiments  of  negroes ;  and  Colonel 
Adams,  in  command  of  one  of  our  brigades  in  Tennessee, 
has  reported  that  the  Yankees  in  that  State  are  enticing  the 
negroes  away  from  their  owners  and  putting  arms  into  their 
hands." 

"That  is  very  barbarous,"  said  I.  My  ignorance  kept  me 
from  saying  more.  The  language  he  had  used  puzzled  me ; 
I  did  not  know  at  the  time  that  New  Orleans  was  in  the 
hands  of  the  Federals,  and  his  saying  that  Butler  had  regi- 
ments of  negroes  seemed  queer. 


306  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"The  people  who  sold  us  their  slaves  helped  John  Brown's 
insurrection,"  said  Bellot. 

A  sudden  recollection  came,  and  I  was  about  to  speak,  but 
Bellot  continued.  The  last  thing  I  could  remember  clearly 
was  the  reading  of  Brown's  deeds  at  Harper's  Ferry ! 

"They  claim  that  they  are  fighting  against  the  principle 
of  secession,  and  they  have  split  Virginia  into  two  States. 
In  my  opinion,  they  are  fightiog  for  pure  selfishness  —  or, 
rather,  impure  selfishness :  they  know  that  they  live  on  the 
trade  of  the  South,  and  that  they  cannot  make  as  much 
money  if  they  let  us  go  to  ourselves." 

"  Yes,"  said  Louis ;  "  the  war  is  all  in  the  interest  of 
trade.  Of  course  there  are  a  few  men  in  the  North  whose 
motives  may  be  good  mistakenly,  but  the  mass  of  the  people 
are  blindly  following  the  counsels  of  those  who  counsel  for 
self-interest.  If  the  moneyed  men,  the  manufacturers,  and 
the  great  merchants  of  the  North  thought  for  one  moment 
that  they  would  lose  some  of  their  dollars  by  the  war,  the 
war  would  end.  What  care  they  for  us  ?  They  care  only  for 
themselves.  They  plunge  the  whole  country  into  mourning 
simply  in  order  to  keep  control  of  the  trade  of  the  South." 

Up  to  this  time  I  had  known  nothing  of  the  creation  of 
West  Virginia  by  the  enemy,  and  I  thought  it  discreet  to  be 
silent,  mentally  vowing  that  I  should  at  once  read  the  his- 
tory of  events  since  1859.  So  I  sought  Dr.  Frost,  and  begged 
him  to  help  me  get  books  or  papers  which  would  give  me 
the  information  I  needed ;  for  otherwise,  I  told  him,  I  should 
be  unable  to  talk  with  any  consistency  or  method. 

"Let  me  see,"  he  said;  "there  is,  of  course,  no  one  book 
in  print  that  would  give  you  just  what  you  want.  We  might 
get  files  of  newspapers  —  but  that  would  be  too  voluminous 
reading  and  too  redundant.  You  ought  to  have  something 
concise  —  some  outline;  and  where  to  get  it  I  can't  tell  you." 
Then,  as  the  thought  struck  him,  he  cried,  "I'll  tell  you; 
we'll  make  it!     You  write  while  I  dictate." 


XXIII 

A   LESSON   IN   HISTORY 

"  So  that,  from  point  to  point,  now  have  you  heard 
The  fundamental  reasons  of  this  war  ; 
Whose  great  decision  hath  mucli  blood  let  forth, 
And  more  thirsts  after."  —  Shakespeare. 

The  doctor  brought  me  a  small  pocket  memorandum-book, 
thinking  that  I  would  require  many  notes. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  where  shall  we  begin  ?  You  remember 
October  fifty -nine  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  date  ?  " 

"Eighteenth;  the  papers  contained  an  account  of  John 
Brown's  seizure  of  Harper's  Ferry." 

"  And  you  know  nothing  of  the  termination  of  the  Brown 
episode  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

I  took  brief  notes  as  he  unfolded  the  history  of  the  war. 

In  the  course  of  his  story  he  spoke  of  the  National  Demo- 
cratic Convention  which  was  held  in  Charleston.  I  remem- 
bered the  building  of  which  he  spoke  —  the  South  Carolina 
Institute  Hall  —  and  interrupted  him  to  tell  him  so. 

"  Maybe  your  home  is  in  Charleston." 

"  I  don't  think  so,  Doctor ;  I  remember  being  in  Charleston, 
but  I  don't  remember  my  home." 

He  brought  out  a  map  and  told  me  the  dates  of  all  the  im- 
portant actions  and  the  names  of  the  officers  who  had  com- 

307 


308  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

manded  or  fought  in  them  in  '61  and  '62,  both  in  Virginia  and 
the  West. 

******* 

"  So  we  have  come  down  to  date,  Doctor  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  think  that  now  I  ought  to  go  back  and  tell 
you  something  about  your  own  command." 

"  Well,  sir." 

"  There  was  more  fighting  while  these  Richmond  move- 
ments were  in  progress.  Where  is  Fredericksburg  ?  Here," 
looking  at  the  map. 

"  Well." 

"  A  Yankee  army  was  there  under  McDowell,  the  man 
who  commanded  at  the  battle  of  Manassas.  We  had  a  small 
army  facing  McDowell.  You  were  in  that  army;  it  was 
under  General  Anderson  —  Tredegar  Anderson  we  call  him, 
to  distinguish  him  from  other  Andersons;  he  is  president  of 
the  Tredegar  Iron  Works,  here  in  Richmond.  Well,  you  were 
facing  McDowell.  Now,  look  here  at  the  map.  McClellan 
stretched  his  right  wing  as  far  as  Mechanicsville  —  here,  almost 
north  of  Richmond ;  and  you  were  between  McClellan  and 
McDowell.  So  Anderson  had  to  get  out.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber the  hot  march  ?  " 

"Not  at  all ;  I  don't  think  I  was  there." 

"I  thought  I'd  catch  you  napping.  I  think  that  when  you 
recover  your  memory  it  will  be  from  some  little  thing  that 
strikes  you  in  an  unguarded  moment.  Your  mind,  when 
consciously  active,  fortifies  itself  against  your  forgotten  past, 
and  it  may  be  in  a  moment  of  weakness  that  things  will  return 
to  you ;  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  a  dream  proves  to  be  the  begin- 
ning. However,  some  men  have  such  great  strength  of  will 
that  they  can  do  almost  anything.  If  ever  you  get  the  small- 
est clew,  you  ought  then  and  there  to  determine  that  you  will 
never  let  it  go.  Your  friends  may  find  you  any  day,  but  it  is 
strange  they  have  not  yet  done  it.  They  surely  must  be  class- 
ing you  among  the  killed." 


A  LESSON   IN  HISTORY 


309 


CNfiRAVED  BY  BORMAY   it  00., N.I 


310  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"■  Do  you  think  that  my  friends  could  help  me  by  telling  me 
the  past  ?    Would  my  memory  return  if  I  should  find  them  ?  " 

"  No ;  they  could  give  you  no  help  whatever  until  you  should 
first  find  one  thing  as  a  starting-point.  Eind  but  one  little  thing, 
and  then  they  can  show  you  how  everything  else  is  to  be  asso- 
ciated with  that.  Withoixt  their  help  you  would  have  a  hard 
time  in  collecting  things  —  putting  them  together ;  they  would 
be  separate  and  distinct  in  your  mind ;  if  you  remember  but 
one  isolated  circumstance,  it  would  be  next  to  impossible  to 
reconstruct.  Well,  let's  go  on  and  finish  ;  we  are  nearly  at  the 
end,  or  at  the  beginning,  for  you-     Where  was  I  ? 

"  Anderson  retreated  from  Fredericksburg.  When  was  that  ?  " 

"  The  twenty -fourth  of  May  or  twenty-fifth  —  say  the  night 
of  the  twenty -fourth." 

''Well,  sir." 

"  We  had  a  brigade  here,  at  Hanover  Court-House  —  Branch's 
brigade.  While  you  were  retreating,  and  when  you  were  very 
near  Hanover,  McClellan  threw  a  column  on  Branch,  and  used 
him  very  severely.  You  were  not  in  the  fight  exactly,  but  were 
in  hearing  of  it,  and  saw  some  of  Branch's  men  after  the  fight. 
That  is  how  we  know  what  brigade  you  belong  to,  although 
it  will  not  claim  you.  You  know  that  you  are  from  South 
Carolina,  and  your  buttons  prove  it;  and  your  diary  shows 
that  you  were  near  Branch's  brigade  while  it  was  in  the  fight ; 
and  the  only  South  Carolina  brigade  in  the  whole  of  Lee's 
army  that  had  any  connection  with  Branch,  is  Gregg's.  Do 
you  see  ?  " 

"  I  see,"  said  I,  "  what  is  the  date  of  that  battle  ?  " 

"May  27th;  your  diary  tells  you  that." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  continued  to  retreat  to  Richmond.  So  did  Branch. 
The  division  you  are  in  is  A.  P.  Hill's.  It  is  called  the 
Light  division.     Branch's  brigade  is  in  it." 

"Yes,  sir;  now  let  me  see  if  I  can  call  the  organization  of 
the  army  down  to  the  company." 


A  LESSON   IN   HISTORY  811 

"  Go  ahead." 

"  Lee's  army  —  " 

''  Yes ;  Army  of  Northern  Virginia." 

"  What  is  General  Lee's  full  name  ?  " 

"  Eobert  E.  —  Robert  Edward  Lee,  of  Virginia ;  son  of  Light- 
Horse  Harry  Lee  of  Revolution  times." 

"Thank  you,  sir;  Lee's  army  —  A.  P.  Hill's  division  — 
Gregg's  brigade  —  what  is  General  Gregg's  name?" 

"  Maxcy." 

"Gregg's  brigade  —  Eirst  South  Carolina,  Colonel  Hamil- 
ton—" 

"  How  did  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  Bellot  told  me  ;  what  is  Colonel  Hamilton's  name  ?  " 

"D.  H.  — Daniel,  I  believe." 

"  Company  H,  Captain  Haskell  —  " 

"  William  Thompson  Haskell." 

"  Thank  you,  sir  ;  any  use  to  write  the  lieutenants  ?  " 

"No." 

"Well,  Doctor,  that  brings  us  to  date." 

"  Now  read  what  you  have  written,"  he  said. 

I  read  my  notes  aloud,  expanding  the  abbreviations  I  had 
made.  My  interest  and  absorption  had  been  so  intense  that  I 
could  easily  have  called  over  in  chronological  order  the  princi- 
pal events  he  had  just  narrated. 

"  Now,"  asked  Dr.  Erost,  "  do  you  believe  that  you  can 
fill  in  the  details  from  what  you  can  remember  of  what  I 
said  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  I ;  "  try  me." 

He  asked  some  questions,  and  I  replied  to  them. 

My  memory  astonished  him.  "  I  must  say,  Jones,  that  you 
have  a  phenomenally  good  and  a  miraculously  bad  memory. 
You'll  do,"  he  said. 

His  account  of  the  fight  of  the  ironclads  had  interested 
me. 

"  What  has  become  of  the  Merrimac  f  "  I  asked  him. 


312  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"  "We  had  to  destroy  her.  When  Yorktown  was  evacuated, 
Norfolk  had  to  follow  suit.  The  Federal  fleet  is  now  in  James 
River,  some  halfway  down  below  Richmond.  A  blockade  has 
been  declared  by  Lincoln  against  all  the  ports  of  the  South. 
We  are  exceedingly  weak  on  the  water." 


XXIV 

BEFORE  THE  GREAT  BATTLE 

"And  so  your  follies  fight  against  yourself. 
Fear,  and  be  slain  ;  no  worse  can  come  ;  to  fight  — 
And  fight  and  die,  is  death  destroying  death  ; 
Where  fearing  dying,  pays  death  servile  breath." 

—  Shakespeare. 

Ox  June  7,  1862,  I  reported  for  duty  to  Captain  Haskell. 
Dr.  Frost  had  offered  to  send  me  over,  but  I  preferred  to 
go  alone,  and,  as  my  strength  seemed  good,  I  made  my  way 
afoot,  and  with  all  my  possessions  in  my  pockets. 

The  Captain  was  ready  for  me.  My  name  was  recorded  on 
the  roll  of  Company  H,  Orderly-sergeant  George  Mackay  writ- 
ing Jones,  B.,  in  its  alphabetical  position. 

A  soldier's  outfit  was  given  to  me  at  once,  a  requisition  hav- 
ing been  made  before  my  coming.  I  joined  the  mess  of  the 
Bellots.  Besides  the  brothers  Bellot,  the  mess  had  other  men 
with  whom  I  formed  gradually  some  of  the  ties  of  friendship ; 
they  were  Sergeant  Josey,  Corporal  Veitch,  Privates  Bail,  Bee, 
Bell,  Benton,  and  Box,  in  this  alphabetical  succession  of 
names  my  own  name  being  no  real  exception,  although  Cap- 
tain Haskell  had  insisted  upon  the  name  written  in  the  diary. 

And  now  my  duties  at  once  began.  I  must  relearn  a  sol- 
dier's drill  in  the  manual  and  in  everything.  The  company 
drilled  four  hours  a  day,  and  the  regiment  had  one  hour's 
battalion  drill,  besides  dress-parade ;  there  was  roll-call  in  the 
company  morning  and  night. 

Nominally  a  raw  recruit,  I  was  handed  over  to  Sergeant 
John  Wilson,  who  put  me  singly  through  the  exercises  without 

313 


314  WHO  GOES  THERE? 

arms  for  about  four  hours  on  my  first  day's  duty,  which  was 
the  third  day  of  my  enlistment,  or  perhaps  I  should  say  re- 
enlistment.  The  sergeant  seemed  greatly  pleased  with  my 
progress,  and  told  me  that  he  should  at  once  promote  me  to 
be  the  right  guide  of  his  awkward  squad. 

On  the  next  day,  therefore,  I  found  myself  drilling  with 
three  other  recruits  who  had  been  members  of  the  company  for 
a  week  or  more.  That  night  Orderly-sergeant  Mackay,  who 
seemed  to  have  reoeived  me  into  his  good  graces,  told  me 
that  Wilson  had  said  that  that  new  man  Jones  beat  everything 
that  he  had  seen  before;  that  learning  to  drill  was  to  Jones 
"as  easy  as  fallin'  off  a  log."  I  remembered  Dr.  Frost's  pre- 
diction. 

The  third  day  I  drilled  with  the  awkward  squad  again; 
but  in  the  afternoon  my  gun  was  put  into  my  hands,  and  for 
an  extra  half-hour  I  was  exercised  in  the  manual  of  arms. 
But  my  first  attempts  proved  very  unfortunate.  Sergeant 
Wilson  scolded,  stormed,  and  almost  swore  at  me.  He  placed 
my  gun  at  the  carry,  and  called  repeated  attention  to  the  exact 
description  of  the  position,  contained  in  the  language  of 
Hardee :  "  The  piece  in  the  right  hand,  the  barrel  nearly  ver- 
tical, and  resting  in  the  hollow  of  the  shoulder ;  the  guard  to 
the  front,  the  arm  hanging  nearly  at  its  full  length  near  the 
body;  the  thumb  and  forefinger  embracing  the  guard,  the 
remaining  fingers  closed  together,  and  grasping  the  swell  of 
the  stock  just  under  the  cock,  which  rests  on  the  little  finger." 
I  simply  could  not  execute  the  shoulder,  or  carry,  with  any  pre- 
cision, although  the  positions  of  support,  right'Shoulder-shift, 
present,  and  all  the  rest,  gave  me  no  trouble  after  they  were 
reached ;  reaching  them  from  the  shoulder  was  the  great 
trouble. 

Wilson  ended  by  ordering  me  off  and  reporting  me  to  the 
Captain. 

Captain  Haskell  sent  for  me.  He  said  kindly,  "  Jones,  Ser- 
geant Wilson  gives  a  bad  report  of  you." 


BEFORE  THE  GREAT  BATTLE  315 

"  I  do  the  best  I  can,  Captain." 

"  The  sergeant  seems  to  think  that  you  are  obstinate  on  some 
peculiar  point  that  he  did  not  make  me  fully  understand.  He 
gives  you  great  praise  for  learning  the  facings  and  the  steps, 
but  says  you  will  not  learn  the  manual." 

"I  don't  understand  my  awkwardness,  Captain.  There  is 
something  wrong  about  it." 

"  You  find  the  manual  difficult  ?  " 

" Not  only  difficult,  but  absurd,"  said  I ;  "it  makes  me  ner- 
vous." 

"And  the  facings  and  steps  were  not  difficult ?  " 

"Not  at  all;  they  seemed  easy  and  natural." 

"'  Take  your  gun  and  come  with  me,"  said  the  Captain ;  "  I 
think  I  have  a  clew  to  the  situation." 

Behind  the  Captain's  simple  quarters  was  an  open  space. 
He  made  me  take  position.  He  also  took  position  with  a  rifle 
at  his  side. 

"  NoAv,  look,"  said  he ;  "  see  this  position,  which  I  assume  to 
be  the  shoulder  natural  to  you." 

His  gun  was  at  his  left  side,  the  barrel  to  the  front,  the 
palm  of  his  left  hand  under  the  butt. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "this  is  the  shoulder  of  the  heavy  infantry 
manual.  I  think  you  were  drilled  once  in  a  company  which 
had  this  shoulder.  It  may  not  have  been  in  your  recent  regi- 
ment that  you  were  so  drilled,  for  this  shoulder  obtained  in  all 
the  militia  companies  of  Carolina  before  the  war.  Many  regi- 
ments still  hold  to  it.  Follow  my  motions  now  —  Support  — 
Akms  ! " 

The  Captain's  right  hand  grasped  the  piece  at  the  small  of 
the  stock ;  his  left  arm  was  thrown  across  his  breast,  the  cock 
resting  on  the  forearm ;  his  right  hand  fell  quickly  to  his 
side. 

I  imitated  him.     I  felt  no  nervousness,  and  told  him  so. 

"I  thought  so,"  said  he;  "now,  just  remember  that  all  the 
other  positions  in  the  manual  are  unchanged.     It  is  only  the 


316  WHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

shoulder,  or  carry,  as  we  sometimes  call  it,  that  has  been 
changed.     You  will  like  the  new  drill." 

He  began  to  put  me  through  the  exercises,  and  although  I 
had  difficulty,  yet  I  had  some  success. 

"  Now  report  to  Sergeant  Wilson  again,"  said  the  Captain. 

I  told  the  sergeant  that  I  thought  I  could  now  do  better; 
that  I  had  been  confused  by  the  light  infantry  carry,  never 
having  seen  drill  except  from  the  heavy  infantry  shoulder. 
Wilson  kept  me  at  work  for  almost  an  hour,  and  expressed 
satisfaction  with  my  progress.  Under  his  training  I  was  soon 
able  to  drill  with  the  company. 

Louis  Bellot  asked  me,  one  night,  if  I  should  not  like  to  see 
Richmond.  He  had  got  permission  to  go  into  town  on  the 
next  day.  The  Captain  readily  granted  me  leave  of  absence 
for  twenty -four  hours,  and  Bellot  and  I  spent  the  day  in  ram- 
bling over  the  town.  We  saw  the  State  House,  and  the  Con- 
federate Congress  in  session,  and  wandered  down  to  the  river 
and  took  a  long  look  at  the  Libby  Prison. 

The  First  had  been  in  bivouac  behind  the  main  lines  of  Lee's 
left,  but  now  the  regiment  took  position  in  the  front,  the  lines 
having  been  extended  still  farther  to  the  left.  A  battery  at 
our  right  —  some  distance  away — would  throw  a  few  shells 
over  at  the  Yankees,  and  their  guns  would  reply ;  beyond  this 
almost  daily  artillery  practice,  nothing  unusual  occurred. 

One  morning,  about  ten  o'clock,  Captain  Haskell  ordered  me 
to  get  my  arms  and  follow  him.  He  at  once  set  out  toward 
the  front.  Corporal  Veitch  being  with  him.  The  Captain  was 
unarmed,  except  for  his  sword.  He  led  us  through  our  pickets, 
and  straight  on  toward  the  river.  The  slope  of  the  hill  was 
covered  with  sedge,  and  there  were  clumps  of  pine  bushes 
which  hid  us  from  any  casual  view  from  either  flank ;  and  as 
for  the  river  swamp  in  our  front,  unless  a  man  had  been  on  its 
hither  edge,  we  were  perfectly  screened.  I  observed  that,  as 
we  approached  the  swamp,  the  Captain  advanced  more  stealthily, 
keeping  in  the  thickest  and  tallest  of  the  bushes.     Veitch  and 


BEFORE  THE  GREAT  BATTLE      317 

I  followed  in  his  footsteps,  bending  over  and  slipping  along 
from  bush  to  bush  in  imitation  of  our  leader.  The  river 
bottom,  which  we  reached  very  shortly,  was  covered  with  a 
dense  forest  of  large  trees  and  undergrowth.  Soon  we  came 
to  water,  into  which  the  Captain  waded  at  once,  Veitch  behind 
him  and  I  following  Veitch.  Captain  Haskell  had  not  said  a 
word  to  me  concerning  the  purpose  of  our  movements,  nor  do 
I  now  know  what  he  intended,  if  it  was  not  merely  to  learn 
the  position  of  the  Yankee  pickets. 

We  went  on,  the  water  at  last  reaching  to  my  waist.  Kow 
the  Captain  signalled  us  to  stop.  He  went  forward  some  ten 
yards  and  stood  behind  a  tree.  He  looked  long  in  his  front, 
bending  his  body  this  way  and  that ;  then  he  beckoned  to  us 
to  come.  The  undergrowth  here  was  less  thick,  the  trees 
larger.  I  could  see  nothing,  in  any  direction,  except  trees  and 
muddy  water.  The  Captain  went  on  again  for  a  few  paces, 
and  stopped  with  a  jerk.  After  a  little  he  beckoned  to  us 
again.  Veitch  and  I  waded  slowly  on.  Before  we  reached 
Captain  Haskell,  he  motioned  to  us  to  get  behind  trees. 

Erom  my  tree  I  looked  out,  first  in  one  direction  and  then 
in  another.  There  was  nothing  —  nothing  except  water  and 
woods.  But  the  Captain  was  still  peering  from  behind  his 
tree,  and  I  could  now  see  that  his  whole  attention  was  fixed 
on  something.  Veitch,  also,  at  my  right,  was  silent  and  alert 
and  rigid,  so  that  I  felt,  rather  than  saw,  that  there  was  some- 
thing in  front  of  us,  and  I  kept  my  eyes  intent  upon  a  narrow 
aisle  just  beyond  me.  All  at  once  a  man  in  dark-blue  dress 
passed  across  the  opening ;  I  knew  instantly  that  he  was  a 
Yankee,  although  I  had  never  seen  one  in  my  life,  and  instinc- 
tively felt  the  hammer  of  my  rifle,  but  he  was  gone.  Now, 
looking  more  closely,  I  could  see  glimpses  of  other  blue  men 
behind  trees  or  in  the  bushes;  I  saw  three  of  them.  They 
were  about  sixty  yards  from  us ;  I  supposed  they  were  part  of 
their  picket-line.  I  had  a  peculiar  itching  to  take  aim  at  one  of 
them,  and  consulted  the  Captain  Avith  my  eyes,  but  he  frowned. 


318  .  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

Doubtless,  they  had  not  seen  us.  They  were  on  the  farther 
side  of  the  Chickahominy,  with  a  flowing  stream  and  a  wide 
pool  stretching  in  their  front,  and  were  not  very  watchful. 
We  remained  stiff  in  our  places  for  four  or  five  minutes;  then 
the  Captain  moved  slowly  backward  and  gave  us  a  sign  to 
follow. 

This  little  adventure  gave  me  great  pleasure,  inasmuch  as  it 
made  me  feel  that  the  Captain  was  favourable  to  me. 

******* 

On  the  evening  of  the  2oth  of  June  we  were  ordered  to  cook 
three  days'  rations.  The  pronunciation  of  this  word  puzzled 
me  no  little.  Everybody  said  rash-ons,  while  I,  though  I  had 
never  before  had  occasion  to  use  the  word,  had  thought  of  it  as 
ra-tions.  I  think  I  called  it  ra-tions  once  or  twice  before  I 
got  straight.  I  remembered  Dr.  Frost's  advice  to  hold  fast 
any  slightest  clew,  and  felt  that  possibly  this  word  might,  in 
the  future,  prove  a  beginning. 

The  troops  knew  that  the  order  meant  a  march,  perhaps  a 
battle.  For  a  day  or  two  past  an  indefinite  rumour  of  some 
movement  on  the  part  of  Jackson's  command  had  circulated 
among  the  men.  Nobody  seemed  to  know  where  Jackson 
was ;  this,  in  itself,  probably  gave  occasion  for  the  talk.  From 
what  I  could  hear,  it  seemed  to  be  thought  generally  that 
Jackson  was  marching  on  Washington,  but  some  of  the  most 
serious  of  the  men  believed  exactly  the  contrary;  they  believed 
that  Jackson  was  very  near  to  Lee's  army. 

The  night  of  the  25th  was  exceedingly  warm.  After  all 
was  ready  for  the  march,  I  lay  on  my  blanket  and  tried  vainly 
to  sleep.  Joe  Bellot  was  lying  not  more  than  three  feet  from 
me,  and  I  knew  that  he,  too,  was  awake,  though  he  did  not 
speak  or  move.  Busy,  and  sometimes  confused,  thoughts,  went 
through  my  mind.  I  doubted  not  that  I  should  soon  see  actual 
war,  and  I  was  far  from  certain  that  I  could  stand  it.  I  had 
never  fired  a  shot  at  a  man ;  no  man  had  ever  fired  at  me.  I 
fully  appreciated  the  fact  of  the  difference  between  other  men 


BEFORE  THE  GEEAT  BATTLE      319 

and  me ;  perhaps  I  exaggerated  my  peculiarity.  I  had  heard 
and  had  read  that  most  men  in  battle  are  aVjle  from  motives  of 
pride  to  do  their  duty;  but  I  was  certainly  not  like  most  men. 
I  was  greatly  troubled.  The  other  men  had  homes  to  fight 
for,  and  that  they  would  fight  well  I  did  not  doubt  at  all ;  but 
I  was  called  on  to  fight  for  an  idea  alone  —  for  the  abstraction 
called  State  rights.  Yet  I,  too,  surely  had  a  home  in  an 
unknown  somewhere,  and  these  men  were  fighting  for  my 
home  as  well  as  theirs;  if  I  could  not  fight  for  a  home  of 
my  own,  I  could  fight  for  the  homes  of  my  friends.  My 
home,  too,  was  a  Southern  home,  vague,  it  is  true,  but  as 
real  as  theirs,  and  Southern  homes  were  in  danger  from  the 
invaders.  I  nmst  fight  for  Southern  homes  —  for  m?/  home  ; 
but  could  I  stand  up  with  my  comrades  in  the  peril  of  battle  ? 
Few  men  are  cowards,  but  was  I  not  one  of  a  few  ?  perhaps 
unique  even  ? 

Of  pride  I  had  enough  —  I  knew  that.  I  knew  that  if  I 
could  but  retain  my  presence  of  mind  I  could  support  a  timid 
physical  nature  by  the  resources  of  reason  in  favour  of  my  dig- 
nity ;  but,  then,  what  is  courage  if  it  is  not  presence  of  mind 
in  the  midst  of  danger  ?  If  my  mind  fail,  I  shall  have  no 
courage  :  this  is  to  think  in  a  circle.  I  felt  that  I  should  pre- 
fer death  to  cowardice  —  the  thought  gave  me  momentary 
comfort. 

But  do  not  all  cowards  feel  just  that  way  before  the  trial 
comes  ?  A  coward  must  be  the  most  wretched  of  men  —  not  a 
man,  an  outcast  from  men. 

And  then,  to  kill  men  —  was  that  preferable  to  being 
killed  ?  I  doubted  it  and  —  perhaps  it  is  strange  to  say  it  — 
the  doubt  comforted  me.  To  be  killed  was  no  worse  than  to 
kill. 

Then  I  thought  of  General  Lee ;  what  force  could  it  be  that 
sustained  him  at  this  moment  ?  If  not  now,  at  least  shortly, 
he  would  give  orders  which  must  result  in  the  death  of  thou- 
sands;  it  was  enough  to  craze  a   general.     How   could  he, 


320  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

reputed  so  good,  give  such  orders  ?  Could  any  success  atone 
for  so  much,  disaster  ?  What  could  be  in  the  mind  of  General 
Lee  to  make  him  consent  to  such  sacrifice  ?  It  must  be  that 
he  feels  forced ;  he  cannot  do  it  willingly.  Would  it  not  be 
preferable  to  give  up  the  contest  —  to  yield  everything,  rather 
than  plunge  the  people  of  two  nations  into  despair  and  horror 
over  so  many  wasted  lives  ?  Eor  so  many  stricken  homes  ? 
For  widows,  orphans,  poverty,  ruin  ?  What  is  it  that  sustains 
General  Lee  ?  It  is,  it  must  be,  that  he  is  a  mere  soldier  and 
simply  obeys  orders.  Orders  from  whom  ?  President  Davis. 
Then  President  Davis  is  responsible  for  all  this  ?  On  him 
falls  the  burden?     Ko.     What  then?     The  country. 

And  what  is  this  thing  that  we  call  the  country  ?  Land  ? 
People  ?  What  is  land  ?  I  have  no  land.  I  have  no  people, 
so  far  as  I  know.  But,  supposing  that  I  have  people  and  land 
—  what  is  the  country  for  which  we  fight?  Will  the  enemy 
take  our  people,  and  take  our  land,  if  we  do  not  beat  them 
back  ?  Yes,  they  will  reduce  our  people  to  subjection.  I 
shall  become  a  dependant  upon  them.  I  shall  be  constrained 
in  my  liberties ;  part  of  my  labour  will  go  to  them  against  my 
will.  My  property,  if  I  have  any,  will  be  taken  from  me  in 
some  way  —  perhaps  confiscated,  if  not  wholly,  at  least  in  a 
measure,  by  laws  of  the  conquerors.     1  shall  not  be  free. 

But  am  I  now  free  ?  If  we  drive  back  the  enemy,  shall  I 
be  free  ?  Yes,  I  shall  be  free,  rightly  free,  free  to  aid  the 
country,  and  to  get  aid  from  the  country.  I  shall  be  part  of 
the  country  and  can  enjoy  my  will,  because  I  will  to  be  part 
of  my  country  and  to  help  build  up  her  greatness  and  sustain 
and  improve  her  institiitions. 

Institutions?  What  is  an  institution?  We  say  govern- 
ment is  an  institution.  What  is  a  government  ?  Is  it  a  body 
of  men  ?  No.  What  is  it,  then  ?  Something  formed  by  the 
people  for  their  supposed  good,  a  growth,  a  development  — 
a  development  of  what  ?  Is  it  material  ?  No,  it  is  moral ;  it 
is   soul  —  then  I  thought  I  could  see  what  is  meant  by  the 


BEFORE  THE  GEEAT  BATTLE      321 

country  and  by  her  institutions.  The  country  is  the  spirit 
of  the  nation  —  and  it  is  deathless.  It  is  not  doomed  to  sub- 
jection ;  take  the  land  —  enslave  the  people  —  and  yet  will  that 
spirit  live  and  act  and  have  a  body.  Let  our  enemies  prevail 
over  our  armies  ;  let  them  destroy  ;  yet  shall  all  that  is  good 
in  our  institutions  be  preserved  even  by  our  enemies ;  for  a 
true  idea  is  imperishable  and  nothing  can  decay  but  the  false. 

Then  why  fight  ?  Because  the  true  must  always  war 
against  the  false.  The  false  and  the  true  are  enemies.  But 
why  kill  the  body  in  order  to  spread,  or  even  to  maintain,  the 
truth  ?     Will  the  truth  be  better  or  stronger  by  that  ? 

Perhaps  —  yet  no.  War  is  evil  and  not  good,  and  it  is  only 
by  good  that  evil  can  be  overcome.  But  if  our  enemies  come 
upon  us,  must  we  not  fight  ?  The  country  wishes  peace.  Our 
enemies  bring  war.  Must  we  submit  ?  We  cannot  submit. 
Submission  to  disgrace  is  repugnant  to  the  spirit  of  the 
nation  ;  death  is  better  than  submission.  But  killing,  is  it 
not  crime  ?  Is  crime  better  than  submission  ?  No  ;  submis- 
sion is  better  than  crime.  But  is  not  submission  also  a  crime  ? 
At  least  it  is  an  infringement  of  the  law  of  the  nation's  spirit. 
Then  crime  must  be  opposed  by  crime  ?  To  avoid  the  crime 
of  submission  we  must  commit  the  crime  of  killing  ?  It  seems 
so  —  but  why  ?  But  why  ?  Ah  !  yes  ;  I  think  I  see ;  it  is 
because  the  spirit  of  the  nation  is  not  equal  to  the  spirit  of 
the  world.  The  world-idea  forbids  killing  and  forbids  sub- 
mission, and  demands  life  and  freedom  for  all ;  the  spirit  of 
the  nation  is  not  so  unselfish ;  the  spirit  of  the  nation  exalts 
so-called  patriotism;  the  world-spirit  raises  high  the  princi- 
ple of  philanthropy  universal.  The  country  has  not  devel- 
oped the  world-idea,  and  will  not,  except  feebly  ;  but  she  will 
at  last,  and  will  be  loyal  to  the  spirit  of  the  world.  Then, 
unless  I  am  sustained  by  a  greater  power,  I  cannot  go  contrary 
to  the  spirit  of  the  South.     I  must  kill  and  must  be  killed. 

But  can  I  stand  the  day  of  battle  ?  Have  I  not  argued  my- 
self into  a  less  readiness  to  kill?       Will  these  thoughts  or 


322  WHO   GOES   THEKE  ? 

fancies  —  coming  to  me  I  know  not  whence,  and  bringing  to 
me  a  mental  disturbance  incomprehensible  and  unique  — 
comfort  me  in  the  hour  of  danger  ?  Will  not  my  conscience 
force  me  to  be  a  coward  ?     Yet  cowardice  is  worse  than  death. 

I  could  not  sleep  ;  I  was  farther  from  sleep  than  ever.  I 
rose,  and  walked  through  long  lines  of  sleeping  men — men 
who  on  the  morrow  might  be  still  more  soundly  sleeping. 

Captain  Haskell  was  standing  alone,  leaning  against  the 
parapet.  I  approached.  He  spoke  kindly,  "  Jones,  you  should 
be  asleep." 

"  Captain,"  I  said ;  "  I  have  tried  for  hours  to  sleep,  but 
cannot." 

"  Let  us  sit  down,"  said  he ;  "  and  we  will  talk  it  over  by 
ourselves." 

His  tone  was  unofficial.  The  Captain,  reserved  in  his  con- 
duct toward  the  men,  seldom  spoke  to  one  of  them  except  con- 
cerning duties,  yet  he  was  very  sympathetic  in  personal  matters, 
and  in  private  talk  was  more  courteous  and  kind  toward  a 
private  than  toward  an  equal.  I  understood  well  enough  that 
it  was  throiigh  sympathy  that  he  had  invited  me  to  unburden. 

"  Captain,"  I  said,  "  I  fear." 

"  May  I  ask  what  it  is  that  you  fear  ?  " 

"  I  fear  that  I  am  a  coward." 

"  Pardon  me  for  doubting.      Why  should  you  suppose  so  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  been  tried,  and  I  dread  the  test." 

"But,"  said  he  ;  "you  must  have  forgotten.  You  were  in  a 
close  place  when  you  were  hurt.  No  coward  would  have  been 
where  you  were,  if  the  truth  has  been  told." 

"  That  was  not  I ;  I  am  now  another  man." 

"  Allow  me  again  to  ask  what  it  if  that  you  seem  to  dread." 

"Proving  a  coward,"  I  replied. 

"You  fear  that  you  will  fear  ?  "  said  he. 

"  That  is  exactly  it." 

"  Then,  my  friend,  what  you  fear  is  not  danger,  but  fear." 

"  I  fear  that  danger  will  make  me  fear." 


BEFOEE  THE  GREAT  BATTLE      323 

"  I  imagine,  sir,  that  danger  makes  anybody  fear  —  at  least 
anybody  who  has  something  more  than  the  mere  fearlessness 
of  the  brute  that  cannot  realize  danger." 

"  Do  you  fear,  too,  Captain  ?  " 

The  Captain  hesitated,  and  I  was  abashed  at  my  boldness. 
I  knew  that  his  silence  was  rebuke. 

"  I  will  tell  you  how  I  feel,  Jones,  since  you  permit  me  to 
speak  of  myself,"  he  said  at  last ;  "■  I  feel  that  life  is  valuable, 
and  not  to  be  thrown  away  lightly.  I  want  to  live  and  not 
die ;  neither  do  I  like  the  thought  of  being  maimed  for  life. 
Death  and  wounds  are  very  distasteful  to  me.  I  feel  that  my 
body  is  averse  to  exposing  itself  to  pain  ;  I  fear  pain ;  I  fear 
death,  but  I  do  not  fear  fear.  I  do  not  think  the  fear  of  death 
is  unmanly,  for  it  is  human.  Those  who  do  not  fear  death  do 
not  love  life.     Please  tell  me  if  you  love  life." 

"  I  do  not  know,  Captain ;  I  suppose  I  do." 

"  Do  you  fear  death  ?  " 

"What  I  fear  .now  is  cowardice.  I  suppose  that  if  I  were 
indifferent  to  death  I  should  have  no  fear  of  being  afraid." 

"  I  am  sure  that  you  kept  your  presence  of  mind  the  other 
day,  in  the  swamp,"  said  he. 

"  I  don't  think  I  had  great  fear." 

"  Yet  you  were  in  danger  there." 

«  Very  little,  I  think,  Captain." 

"No,  sir;  you  were  in  danger.  At  any  moment  a  bullet 
might  have  ended  your  life." 

"  I  did  not  realize  the  situation,  then." 

"  Well,  I  must  confess  that  you  had  the  advantage  of  me, 
then,"  said  he. 

"  What  ?  You,  CajDtain  ?  You  felt  that  you  were  in 
danger  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Jones  ;  every  moment  I  knew  our  danger." 

"  But  you  did  not  fear." 

"  May  I  ask  if  you  do  not  regard  fear  as  the  feeling  caused 
by  a  knowledge  of  danger  ?  " 


324  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"  I  know,  Captain,  —  I  don't  know  how  I  know  it,  —  but  I 
know  that  a  man  may  fear  and  yet  do  his  duty ;  but  there  are 
other  men,  and  I  am  afraid  that  I  am  one  of  them,  who  fear 
and  who  fail  in  duty." 

"  I  congratulate  you,  sir ;  I  wish  all  our  men  would  fear  to 
fail  in  duty,"  said  he ;  "  we  should  have  an  invincible  army 
in  such  case.  An  army  consisting,  without  exception,  of  such 
men,  could  not  be  broken.  It  is  those  who  flee,  those  who  fail 
in  duty,  that  cause  disorganization.  The  touch  of  the  elbow 
is  good  for  the  weak,  I  think,  sir ;  but  for  the  man  who  will  do 
his  duty  such  dependence  should  not  be  taught.  Good  men 
instructed  to  depend  on  comrades  will  be  demoralized  when 
comrades  forsake  them.  Our  method  of  battle  ought  to  be 
changed.  Our  ranks  should  be  more  open.  Many  reasons 
might  be  urged  for  that  change,  but  the  one  we  are  now  con- 
sidering is  enough.  The  close  line  makes  good  men  depend  on 
weak  men ;  when  the  weak  fail,  the  strong  feel  a  loss  which  is 
not  really  a  loss  but  rather  an  advantage,  if  they  could  but  see 
it  so.  Every  man  in  the  army  ought  to  be  taught  to  do  his 
whole  duty  regardless  of  what  others  do.  Those  who  cannot 
be  so  taught  ought  not  to  fight,  sir;  there  are  other  duties 
more  suited  to  them." 

"  And  I  fear  that  my  case  is  just  such  a  one,"  I  said. 

"  There  is  fear  and  fear,"  said  he ;  "  how  would  you  like  for 
me  to  test  j^ou  now  ?  " 

"  To  test  me  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  can  make  you  a  proposition  that  will  test  your 
courage."     His  voice  had  become  stern. 

I  hesitated.  AVhat  was  he  going  to  do  ?  I  could  not  imag- 
ine. But  I  felt  that  to  reject  his  offer  would  be  to  accept  fully 
the  position  into  which  my  fears  were  working  to  thrust  me. 

"  Do  it.  Captain,"  said  I ;  "  make  it.  I  want  to  be  relieved 
of  this  suspense." 

"  No  matter  what  danger  you  run  ?  Is  danger  better  than 
suspense  concerning  danger  ?  " 


BEFORE  THE  GREAT  BATTLE       325 

I  reflected  again.  At  last  I  brought  up  all  my  nerve  and 
replied,  "  Yes,  Captain,  danger  is  better  than  fear." 

"  Why  did  you  hesitate  ?     Was  it  through  fear  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  "  but  not  entirely  through  fear ;  I  doubted 
that  I  had  the  right  to  incur  danger  uselessly." 

"  And  how  did  you  settle  that  ?  " 

"I  settle  that  by  trusting  to  you.  Captain." 

He  laughed ;  then  he  said :  "  The  test  that  I  shall  give  you 
may  depress  you,  but  I  am  sure  that  you  are  going  to  be  as 
good  a  soldier  as  Company  H  can  boast  of  having.  Lieutenant 
Rhett,  only  yesterday,  remarked  that  you  were  the  best-drilled 
man  in  the  company,  and  showed  astonishment  that  a  raw 
recruit,  in  less  than  two  weeks,  should  gain  such  a  standing. 
I  thought  it  advisable  to  say  to  him  that  your  education  had 
included  some  military  training,  and  he  was  satisfied."  The 
Captain  had  dropped  his  official  manner.  '''  It  is  clear  to  me, 
Jones,  that  you  are  more  nearly  a  veteran  than  any  of  us. 
I  know  that  you  have  been  in  danger  and  have  been  wounded, 
and  your  uniform,  which  you  were  wearing  then,  showed  signs 
of  the  very  hardest  service.  I  have  little  doubt,  sir,  that  you 
have  already  seen  battle  more  than  once." 

''  But,  Captain,  all  that  may  be  true  and  yet  do  me  no  good 
at  all.     I  am  a  different  man." 

"  Since  you  allow  me  to  enter  into  your  confidence,  —  which 
I  appreciate,  —  I  beg  to  say  that  your  fears  are  not  unnatural ; 
I  think  every  man  in  the  company  has  them.  And  I  dare  say, 
as  a  friend,  that  you  feel  fear  more  sensitively  because  you 
live  in  the  subjective ;  you  feel  thrown  back  on  yourself.  Con- 
fess that  you  are  exclusive." 

"  I  am  forced  to  be  so.  Captain." 

"  The  men  would  welcome  your  companionship,  sir." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  it  is  as  you  say  :  I  feel  thrown  back  on  myself." 

"  And  I  think  —  though  of  course  I  would  not  pretend  to 
say  it  positively  —  that  is  why  your  fears  are  not  unnatural, 
though  peculiar ;  I  fancy  that  you  heighten  them  by  your  self- 


326  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

concentration.  The  world  and  objects  in  it  divert  other  men, 
while  your  attention  is  upon  your  own  feelings.  Pardon  me 
for  saying  that  you  think  of  little  except  yourself.  This  new 
old  experience  of  battle  and  peril  you  apply  without  dilution 
to  your  soul,  and  you  wouder  what  the  effect  will  be.  The 
other  men  think  of  other  men,  and  of  home,  and  of  a  thousand 
things.  You  will  be  all  right  in  battle.  I  predict  that  the 
excitement  of  battle  will  be  good  for  you,  sir ;  it  will  force  you 
out  of  yourself." 

"  I  have  tried  lately  to  take  more  interest  in  the  world  of 
other  men  and  other  things,"  I  said. 

"  Yes ;  I  was  glad  to  see  you  playing  marbles  to-day.  Shall 
I  give  you  that  test  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  if  you  please." 

"I  think,  however,  that  you  have  already  given  proof  that 
you  do  not  need  it,"  said  he. 

"  How  so.  Captain  ?  " 

"Why,  we've  been  talking  here  for  ten  minutes  since  I 
proposed  to  test  you,  and  you  have  shown  no  suspense  what- 
ever in  regard  to  it.     Have  you  lost  interest  in  it  ?  " 

"Not  at  all,  Captain;  I  have  only  been  waiting  your  good 
time." 

"And  therein  you  have  shown  fortitude,  which  may  differ 
from  courage,  but  I  do  not  think  it  does.  I  am  confident 
you  will  at  once  reject  my  proposition.  I  don't  know  that 
I  ought  to  make  it;  but,  having  begun,  I'll  finish.  What  I 
propose  is  this:  I  will  assign  you  some  special  duty  that 
will  keep  you  out  of  battle  —  such  as  guarding  the  baggage, 
or  other  duty  in  the  rear." 

I  was  silent.     An  instant  more,  and  I  felt  hurt. 

"  Why  do  you  hesitate  ?  " 

"Because  I  did  not  think  —  "     I  stopped  in  time. 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  he,  hastily ;  "  and  you  must  par- 
don me ;  but  did  you  not  urge  me  on  ?  " 

"  I  confess  it.  Captain ;  and  you  have  done  me  good." 


BEFORE  THE  GEEAT  BATTLE      327 

"Of  course,  Jones,  you  know  that  I  did  not  expect  you 
to  accept  my  offer,  which,  after  all,  was  merely  imaginary. 
Now,  can  you  not  see  that  what  you  fear  is  men's  opinions 
rather  than  danger  ?  You  are  not  intimidated  at  the  pros- 
pect of  battle." 

"  I  fear  that  I  shall  be,"  said  I. 

"  And  yet,  when  I  propose  to  keep  you  out  of  battle,  your 
indignation  seems  no  less  natural  to  yourself  than  it  does 
to  me." 

"Is  not  that  in  keeping  with  what  I  have  said  about  my 
fears  ?  " 

"  Oblige  me  by  explaining." 

"  I  fear  to  show  you  my  fear.  Do  I  not  refuse  your  offer 
for  the  purpose  of  concealing  my  fear  ?  " 

"And  to  conceal  your  imaginary  fears,  you  accept  the 
possibility  —  the  strong  possibility  —  of  death,"  said  he, 
gravely. 

"Yes,"  I  replied;  "1  do  now,  while  death  seems  far,  but 
what  I  shall  do  when  it  is  near  is  not  sure." 

"  You  are  very  stubborn,"  said  the  Captain,  in  a  stern  voice, 
assuming  again  the  relation  of  an  officer. 

"  I  do  not  mean  it  that  way,  Captain." 

"You  have  determined  to  consider  yourself  a  coward,  or 
at  least  to  cherish  fear ;  and  no  suggestion  I  can  make 
seems  to  touch  you." 

"  I  wish  I  could  banish  fear,"  said  I. 

"Well,  sir,  determine  to  do  it.  Instead  of  exerting  your 
will  to  make  yourself  miserable,  use  it  for  a  better  purpose." 

"  How  can  a  man  will  ?  How  can  he  know  that  his  reso- 
lution will  not  weaken  in  the  time  of  trial  ?  " 

"  It  is  by  willing  to  do  what  comes  next  that  a  man  can 
again  will  and  will  more.  Can  you  not  determine  that  you 
will  do  what  you  are  ordered  to  do  ?  Doubtless  we  shall 
march  to-morrow ;  have  you  not  decided  that  you  will  march 
with  us  ?  " 


S28  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"I  had  not  thought  of  so  simple  a  thing.  Of  course,  Cap- 
tain, I  expect  to  march." 

''And  if  the  march  brings  us  upon  the  battlefield,  do  you 
not  know  that  you  will  march  to  the  battlefield  ?  " 

"  I  expect  to  go  into  battle,  of  course.  Captain.  If  I  did 
not,  I  should  have  no  fear  of  myself." 

"Have  as  great  fear  of  yourself  as  you  wish.  Do  you 
intend  to  run  away  when  we  get  into  battle  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  such  intention ;  but  when  the  time  comes,  I 
may  not  be  able  to  have  any  intention  at  all." 

"  At  what  point  in  the  action  do  you  expect  to  weaken  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  have  any  expectation  at  all  ?  I  am  simply 
untried,  and  fear  the  test." 

"You  can  determine  that  you  will  act  the  man,"  said  he. 
Then,  kindly :  "  I  have  no  fears  that  you  will  do  otherwise, 
but  "  —  and  here  his  voice  again  became  stern  —  "  the  deter- 
mination will  rid  you  of  your  present  fears.  Exert  your 
will,  and  this  nightmare  will  go." 

"  Can  a  man  will  to  do  an  unknown  thing  in  the  future  ?  " 

"  You  can.  You  can  drive  away  your  present  fear  of  your- 
self, at  the  very  least." 

"  How  can  I  do  it,  Captain  ?  " 

"  I  shall  give  you  one  more  test." 

"Do  anything  you  wish,  Captain;  only  don't  propose  any- 
thing that  would  confirm  my  fear." 

"Look  at  me  —  now.  I  am  going  to  count  three  —  under- 
stand ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  When  I  say  '  three,'  you"  will  determine  to  continue  in 
your  present  state  of  mind  — " 

"  No,  no.  Captain ;  I  can't  do  that ! " 

"Why,  you've  been  doing  nothing  else  for  the  last  hour, 
man !  But  allow  me  to  finish.  You  are  going  to  determine 
to  remain  as  you  are,  or  you  will  determine  to  conquer  your 
fears.     Now,  reflect  before  I  begin." 


BEFORE  THE  GREAT  BATTLE      329 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  Ready  ! "  said  the  Captain ;  "  hold  your  teeth  together. 
When  I  say  three,  you  act  —  and  act  for  life  or  death — 
ONE  —  TWO  —  " 

If  he  ever  said  three,  I  did  not  hear  it ;  at  the  word  "  two  " 
all  my  fears  were  gone. 

*'  Well,  my  friend,  how  is  it  now  ?  "  he  asked  gently,  even 
hesitatingly. 

"  Captain,"  I  said ;  "  I  am  your  grateful  servant.  I  shall 
do  my  duty." 

"  I  knew,  sir,  that  your  will  was  only  sleeping ;  you  must 
excuse  me  for  employing  a  disagreeable  device  in  order  to 
arouse  it.  If  I  may  make  a  suggestion,  I  would  now  beg, 
while  you  are  in  the  vein,  that  you  will  encourage  henceforth 
the  companionship  of  the  men." 

"  It  will  be  a  pleasure  to  do  so,  hereafter.  Captain." 

"  And  I  am  delighted  with  this  little  episode,  sir,"  said  he ; 
"  I  am  sincerely  glad  that  the  thought  of  confiding  in  me  pre- 
sented itself  to  your  mind,  since  the  result  seems  so  whole- 
some." 

"  Good  night.  Captain,"  said  I. 

But  he  did  not  let  me  leave  without  thus  having  reasserted 
his  character  as  my  commander. 

"  Go  back  and  get  all  the  sleep  you  can ;  you  will  have  need 
for  all  your  physical  strength  to-morrow  —  and  after." 

I  was  almost  happy. 


XXV 


IN    THE    GBEAT    BATTLE 


"  If  I  should  tell  thee  o'er  this  thy  day's  work, 
Thou'lt  not  believe  thy  deeds  ;  but  I'll  report  it." 

—  Shakespeake. 

It  is  said  that  a  word  may  change  a  life.  Actually  ?  No, 
not  of  itself ;  the  life  which  is  changed  must  be  ready  for  the 
word,  else  we  were  creatures  dominated  by  our  surroundings. 

I  had  been  a  fragment,  —  a  sort  of  moral  flotsam  cast  up  by 
an  unknown  sea,  —  and  I  had  found  a  rude  harbour  in  Company 
H.  If  I  touched  a  larger  world,  it  was  only  through  the  me- 
dium of  the  company  in  its  relations  to  that  world.  I  had 
formed  some  attachments,  —  ties  which  have  lasted  through 
life  thus  far,  and  Avill  always  last,  —  but  these  attachments 
were  immediate  only,  and,  so  far  as  I  felt,  were  almost  base- 
less ;  for  not  directly  could  I  see  and  feel  what  was  felt  by 
the  men  I  loved.  Outside  the  narrow  bounds  of  the  com- 
pany my  world  was  all  abstract.  I  fought  for  that  world, 
for  it  appealed  to  my  reason ;  but  it  was  with  effort  that  I 
called  before  my  mind  that  world,  which  was  a  very  present 
help  to  every  other  man.  The  one  great  fact  was  war ;  the 
world  was  an  ideal  world  rather  than  a  reality.  And  I  fre- 
quently felt  that,  although  the  ideal  after  all  is  the  only 
reality,  yet  that  reality  to  me  must  be  lacking  in  the  vary- 
ing quality  of  light,  and  the  delicate  degrees  of  sweetness 
and  truth  which  home  and  friends  and  all  the  material  good 
of  earth  were  said  to  assume  for  charming  their  possessors. 
The  day  brought  me  into  contact  with  men ;  the  night  left 
me  alone  with  myself.     In  my  presence  men  spoke  of  homes 

330 


IN  THE  GEEAT  BATTLE  331 

far  away,  of  mothers,  of  sisters,  of  wives  and  children.  I 
could  see  how  deep  was  the  interest  which  moved  them  to 
speak,  and,  in  a  measure,  they  had  my  sympathy ;  yet  such 
interest  was  mystery  rather  than  fact,  theoretical  rather  than 
practical.  I  could  fill  these  pages  with  pathetic  and  humor- 
ous sayings  heard  in  the  camps,  for  my  memory  peculiarly 
exerted  itself  to  retain  —  or  rather,  I  should  say,  spontane- 
ously retained  —  what  I  saw  and  heard ;  saw  and  heard  with 
the  least  emotion,  perhaps,  ever  experienced  by  a  soldier. 
Absorbed  in  reflections  on  what  I  heard,  and  in  fancies  of  a 
world  of  which  I  knew  so  little,  it  is  not  to  be  doubted  that 
I  constructed  ideals  far  beyond  the  humdrum  reality  of  home 
life,  impracticable  ideals  that  tended  only  to  separate  me 
more  from  other  men.  Their  world  was  not  my  world ;  this 
I  knew  full  well,  and  I  sometimes  thought  they  knew  it ;  for 
while  no  rude  treatment  marked  their  intercourse  with  me, 
yet  few  sought  me  as  a  friend.  My  weak  attempts  to  become 
companionable  had  failed  and  had  left  me  more  morose.  But 
for  the  Captain  and  for  Joe  Bellot,  I  should  have  been 
hopeless. 

Such  had  been  my  feelings  before  I  had  willed;  now,  in 
a  degree,  everything  was  changed;  indifference,  at  least,  was 
gone,  and  although  I  was  yet  subject  to  the  strange  experience 
which  ruled  my  mind  and  hindered  it,  yet  I  knew  that  I  had 
large  power  over  myself,  and  I  hoped  that  I  should  always 
determine  to  live  the  life  of  a  healthy  human  being,  that  I  should 
be  able  to  accept  the  relationships  which,  through  Company  H, 
bound  me  to  all  men  and  all  things,  and  that  my  interest  hence- 
forth would  be  diversified  —  touching  the  world  and  what  is 
in  it  rather  than  myself  alone.  But  this  was  mere  hope ; 
the  only  certain  change  was  in  the  banishment  of  my  former 
indifference. 

******* 

The  morning  of  Thursday,  the  26th  of  June,  passed  away,  and 
we  yet  held  our  place  in  the  line.     At  two  o'clock  the  long  roll 


332  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

was  heard  in  every  regiment.  Our  knapsacks  had  been  piled, 
to  be  stored  in  Richmond. 

"  Fall  in,  Company  H  !  Fall  in,  men  !  Fall  in  promptly  !  " 
shouted  Orderly-sergeant  Mackay. 

By  fours  we  went  to  rear  and  left,  then  northward  at  a  rapid 
stride.     Some  of  the  men  tried  to  jest,  and  failed. 

At  three  o'clock  we  were  crossing  Meadow  Bridge ;  we  could 
see  before  us  and  behind  us  long  lines  of  infantry — Lee's  left 
wing  in  motion. 

Beyond  the  bridge  the  column  filed  right ;  A.  P.  Hill  came 
riding  back  along  the  line  of  the  Light  Division. 

Suddenly,  from  over  the  hills  a  mile  and  more  away,  comes 
the  roar  of  cannon.  We  leave  the  road  and  march  through 
fields  and  meadows ;  the  passing  of  the  troops  ahead  has 
cleared  the  way ;  we  go  through  gaps  in  rail  fences. 

And  now  we  hear  the  crash  of  small  arms,  and  smoke  is  ris- 
ing from  our  left  oblique.  We  are  yet  under  the  hill.  We  halt 
and  wait.  The  noise  of  battle  grows.  Sunset  comes  —  we 
move.  The  next  company  on  our  right  is  passing  through  a 
gap  in  a  fence.  A  shell  strikes  the  topmost  rail  at  the  left 
and  hurls  it  clear  over  their  heads.  Then  I  see  men  pale,  and 
I  know  that  my  own  face  is  white. 

Shells  fly  over  us.  We  lie  down  on  the  slope  of  a  hill  which 
rises  to  our  left,  and  darkness  grows,  and  the  noises  cease.  No 
breaking  of  ranks  for  rest  or  for  water ;  the  long  night  through 
we  lie  on  our  arms. 

Morning  comes ;  we  have  no  water ;  the  men  eat  their 
rations  dry.  At  sunrise  the  march  is  again  begun,  through 
fields  and  woods  and  down  country  roads  ;  we  go  southeast. 

The  Yankees  have  gone.  At  nine  o'clock  we  halt ;  a  field. 
Company  C,  the  right  of  the  regiment,  is  thrown  forward  as 
skirmishers. 

Again  we  march ;  again  we  halt,  the  brigade  in  line  of 
battle.     An  orderly  comes  to  Captain  Haskell. 

"  Company  H  !  Attention  !  " 


IN  THE   GEEAT   BATTLE  333 

Every  man  is  in  his  place  —  alert. 

"  Forward  —  March  !  " 

"  By  the  right  Jiank — March  !  " 

"  Halt  !  —  Eront  !  " 

^^  Company — as  skirmishers — 07i  the  right  file  —  take  intervals 
—  double-quick —  March  ! " 

I  did  not  have  very  far  to  go.  The  company  was  deployed 
on  the  left  of  Company  C.  Then  we  went  forward  in  line 
for  half  a  mile  or  more,  through  woods  and  fields,  the  brigade 
following  in  line  of  battle. 

About  eleven  o'clock  we  had  before  us  an  extensive  piece  of 
open  land  —  uncultivated,  level,  and  dry.  In  the  edge  of  the 
woods  we  had  halted,  so  that  we  might  not  get  too  far  ahead 
of  the  brigade.  From  this  position  we  saw  —  some  six  hun- 
dred yards  at  our  left  oblique  —  a  group  of  horsemen  ride 
out  into  the  field,  seemingly  upon  a  road,  or  line,  that  would 
intersect  our  line  of  advance.  Our  men  were  at  once  in  place. 
The  distance  was  too  great  to  tell  the  uniforms  of  the  party 
of  horsemen ;  but,  of  course,  they  coiild  be  only  Yankees. 

Captain  Haskell  ordered  Dave  Bellot  to  step  out  of  the  line. 
The  horsemen  had  halted ;  they  were  a  small  party,  not 
more  than  fifteen  or  twenty.  Captain  Haskell  ordered  Bellot 
to  take  good  aim  at  the  most  eligible  one  of  the  group,  and 
fire. 

Bellot  knelt  on  one  knee,  raised  his  sight,  put  his  rifle  to 
his  shoulder,  and  lowered  it  again.  "  Captain,"  said  he,  "  I 
am  afraid  to  fire;  they  may  be  our  men." 

The  Captain  made  no  reply ;  he  seemed  to  hesitate  ;  then  he 
put  his  handkerchief  on  the  point  of  his  sword  and  walked  for- 
ward. A  horseman  advanced  to  meet  him.  Captain  Haskell 
returned  to  Company  H,  and  said,  ''  They  are  General  Jack- 
son and  his  staff." 

Again  we  went  forward.  Erom  the  brow  of  a  hill  we  could 
see  tents  —  a  camp,  a  Yankee  camp  —  on  the  next  hill,  and  we 
could  see  a  few  men  running  away  from  it.     We   reached  the 


334  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

camp.  It  had  been  abandoned  hurriedly.  Our  men  did  not 
keep  their  lines  perfectly ;  they  were  curious  to  see  what  was 
in  the  tents.  Suddenly  the  cracking  of  rifles  was  heard,  and 
the  singing  of  bullets,  and  the  voice  of  Captain  Haskell  com- 
manding, "  Lie  down  !  " 

Each  man  found  what  shelter  was  nearest.  I  was  behind 
a  tent.  The  Yankee  skirmishers  were  just  beyond  a  little 
valley,  behind  trees  on  the  opposite  hill,  about  two  hundred 
yards  from  us.  I  could  see  them  looking  out  from  behind  the 
trees  and  firing.  I  took  good  aim  at  one  and  pulled  the  trig- 
ger ;  his  bullet  came  back  at  me  ;  I  loaded  and  fired ;  I  saw 
him  no  more,  but  I  could  see  the  smoke  shoot  out  from  the 
side  of  the  tree  and  hear  his  bullet  sing.  I  thought  that  I 
ought  to  have  hit  him ;  I  saw  him  again,  and  fired,  and  missed. 
Then  I  carefully  considered  the  distance',  and  concluded  that 
it  was  greater  than  I  had  first  thought.  I  raised  the  sliding 
sight  to  three  hiindred  yards,  and  fired  again  at  the  man, 
whom  I  could  now  see  distinctly.  A  man  dropped  or  leaped 
from  the  tree,  and  I  saw  him  no  more ;  neither  did  I  see  again 
the  man  behind  the  tree. 

We  had  had  losses.  Veitch  and  Crawford  had  been  shot 
fatally;  other  men  slightly.  The  sun  was  shining  hot  iipon 
us.  The  brigade  was  behind  us,  waiting  for  us  to  dislodge  the 
skirmishers.  Suddenly  I  heard  Captain  Haskell's  voice  order- 
ing us  forward  at  double-quick.  We  ran  down  the  hill  into 
the  valley  below ;  there  we  found  a  shallow  creek  with  steep 
banks  covered  with  briers.  We  beat  down  the  briers  with  our 
guns,  and  scrambled  through  to  the  other  side  of  the  creek  in 
time  to  see  the  Yankees  run  scattering  through  the  woods  and 
away.  We  reached  their  position  and  rested  while  the  brigade 
found  a  crossing  and  formed  again  in  our  rear.  I  searched  for 
a  wounded  man  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  but  found  none ;  yet  I  felt 
sure  that  I  had  fired  over  my  man  and  had  knocked  another 
out  from  the  tree  above  him. 

We  advanced  again,  and  had  a  running  fight  for  an  hour  or 


IN  THE   GREAT   BATTLE  335 

more.  At  length  no  Yankees  were  to  be  seen;  doubtless  they 
had  completed  the  withdrawing  of  their  outposts,  and  we  were 
not  to  find  them  again  until  we  should  strike  their  main  lines. 

Now  we  advanced  for  a  long  distance;  troops  —  no  doubt 
Jackson's — could  be  seen  at  intervals  marching  rapidly  on 
our  left,  marching  forward  and  yet  at  a  distance  from  our 
own  line.  We  reached  an  elevated  clearing,  and  halted.  The 
brigade  came  up,  and  we  returned  to  our  position  in  the  line  of 
battle  —  on  the  left  of  the  First.  It  was  about  three  o'clock; 
to  the  right,  far  away,  we  could  hear  the  pounding  of  artillery, 
while  to  the  southeast,  somewhere  near  the  centre  of  Lee's 
lines,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Chickahominy  perhaps,  the  noise 
of  battle  rose  and  fell.  Shells  from  our  front  came  among  us. 
A  battery  —  Crenshaw's  —  galloped  headlong  into  position  on 
the  right  of  the  brigade,  and  began  firing.  The  line  of  infantry 
hugged  the  ground. 

Three  hundred  yards  in  front  the  surface  sloped  downward 
to  a  hollow ;  the  slope  and  the  hollow  were  covered  with  for- 
est; what  was  on  the  hill  beyond  we  could  not  see,  but  the 
Yankee  batteries  were  there  and  at  work.  A  caisson  of  Cren- 
shaw's exploded.  Troops  were  coming  into  line  far  to  our 
right. 

General  Gregg  ordered  his  brigade  forward.  We  marched 
down  the  wooded  slope,  Crenshaw  firing  over  our  heads.  We 
marched  across  the  wooded  hollow  and  began  to  ascend  the 
slope  of  the  opposite  hill,  still  in  the  woods. 

The  advance  through  the  trees  had  scattered  the  line;  we 
halted  and  re-formed.  The  pattering  of  bullets  amongst  the 
leaves  was  distinct ;  shells  shrieked  over  us ;  we  lay  down  in 
line.  Between  the  trunks  of  the  trees  we  could  see  open 
ground  in  front ;  it  was  thick  with  men  firing  into  us  in  the 
woods.  Those  in  our  front  were  Zouaves,  with  big,  baggy,  red 
breeches.  We  began  to  fire  kneeling.  Leaves  fell  from 
branches  above  us,  and  branches  fell,  cut  doAvn  by  artillery. 
Butler,  of  our  company,  lying  at  my  right  hand,  gave  a  howl 


336  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

of  pain ;  his  head  was  bathed  in  blood.  Lieutenant  Rhett  was 
dead.  Rice,  at  my  left,  had  found  whiskey  in  the  Yankee 
camp.  He  had  drunk  the  whiskey.  He  raised  himself,  took 
long  aim,  and  fired ;  lowered  his  gun,  but  not  his  body,  gazing 
to  see  the  eifect,  and  yelled,  "  By  God,  I  missed  him  !  "  Mc- 
Kenzie  was  shot.  Lieutenant  Barnwell  was  shot.  The  red- 
legged  men  were  there  and  thicker.  Our  colour  went  down, 
and  rose.  We  had  gone  into  battle  with  two  colours,  —  the  blue 
regimental  State  flag,  and  the  battle-flag  of  the  Confederate 
infantry.     Lieutenant-colonel  Smith  had  fallen. 

A  lull  came.     I  heard  the  shrill  voice  of  Gregg :  — 

"  Bri-ga-a-a-Orde  —  Attention  ! " 

"  Fi-i-i-x  —  Bayonets  ! " 

"  For-w-a-r-d  — "  and  the  next  I  knew  men  were  dropping 
down  all  around  me,  and  we  were  advancing.  But  only  for 
a  minute  did  we  go  forward.  From  front  and  left  came  a 
tempest  of  lead;  again  the  colours  —  both — fell,  and  all  the 
colour-guard.  The  colonel  raised  the  colours.  We  staggered 
and  fell  back  ;  the  retreat  through  the  woods  became  disorder. 

On  the  top  of  our  hill  I  could  see  but  few  men  whom  I  knew, 
—  only  six,  but  one  of  the  six  was  Haskell.  The  enemy  had 
not  advanced,  but  shell  and  shot  yet  raked  the  hill.  Cren- 
shaw's battery  was  again  in  full  action.  We  hunted  our  regiment 
and  failed  to  find  it.  Some  regiment  —  the  Thirtieth  North 
Carolina  —  was  advancing  on  our  right.  Captain  Haskell  and 
his  six  men  joined  this  regiment,  placing  themselves  on  its 
left.  The  Thirtieth  went  forward  through  the  woods  — 
reached  the  open  —  and  charged. 

The  regiment  charged  boldly ;  forward  straight  it  went,  no 
man  seeing  whither,  every  man  with  his  mouth  stretched 
wide  and  his  voice  at  its  worst. 

Suddenly,  down  to  the  ground  fell  every  man ;  the  line  had 
found  a  sunken  road,  and  the  temptation  was  too  great  — 
down  into  the  friendly  road  we  fell,  and  lay  with  bodies  flat 
and  faces  in  the  dust. 


IN   THE   GEEAT   BATTLE  337 

The  officers  waved  their  swords  ;  they  threatened  the  men  ; 
the  men  calmly  looked  at  their  officers. 

A  man  on  a  great  horse  rode  up  and  down  the  line  urging, 
gesticulating.     He  got  near  to  Haskell  — 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  shouted  our  Captain. 

"  Captain  Blount  —  quartermaster  Fourth  North  Carolina." 

"  We  will  follow  you ! "  shouted  Haskell. 

Blount  rode  on  his  great  horse  — he  rode  to  the  centre  of  the 
Thirtieth  —  he  stooped  ;  he  seized  the  colour  —  he  lifted  the 
battle-flag  high  in  the  air  —  he  turned  his  great  horse — he  rode 
up  the  hill. 

Then  those  men  lying  in  the  sunken  road  sprang  to  their  feet, 
and  followed  their  flag  fluttering  in  front,  and  made  the  world 
hideous  with  yells. 

And  the  red  flag  went  down  —  and  Blount  was  dead —  and 
the  great  horse  was  lying  on  his  side  and  kicking  the  air  —  and 
the  hill  was  gained. 

The  Thirtieth  was  disorganized  by  its  advance.  Another 
North  Carolina  regiment  came  from  the  right  rear.  Haskell 
and  his  six  were  yet  unbroken;  they  joined  the  advancing 
regiment,  keeping  on  its  left,  and  charged  with  it  for  another 
position.  Believe  it  or  not,  the  same  thing  recurred ;  the  regi- 
ment charged  well ;  from  the  smoke  in  front  death  came  out 
upon  it  fast ;  a  sunken  road  was  to  be  crossed,  and  was  not 
crossed  ;  down  the  men  all  went  to  save  their  lives. 

And  the  officers  waved  their  swords,  and  the  men  remained 
in  the  road. 

Now  the  Captain  called  the  six,  and  ran  to  the  centre  of  the 
regiment;  he  snatched  the  flag  and  rushed  forward  up  the 
slope  —  he  looked  not  back,  but  forward. 

The  six  were  on  the  slope  —  the  Captain  was  farthest  for- 
ward—  one  of  the  six  fell  —  in  falling  his  face  was  turned 
back  —  he  saw  that  the  regiment  was  yet  in  the  sunken  road, 
and  he  shouted  to  his  Captain  and  told  him  that  the  regiment 
did  not  follow. 


338  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

The  Captain  came  back,  and  said  tenderly,  "  Ali !  Jones  ? 
What  did  I  tell  you  ?  Are  you  hurt  badly  ?  I  will  send  for 
you." 

Then  the  Captain  and  five  turned  away  to  the  right,  for  the 
flag  would  not  be  taken  back  to  the  regiment  lying  down. 

On  an  open  hill  between  the  two  battling  hosts  I  was  lying. 
The  bullets  and  shells  came  from  front  and  rear.  The  blue 
men  came  on  —  and  the  others  went  back  awhile.  I  fired  at 
the  blue  men,  and  tried  to  load,  but  could  not.  I  felt  a  great 
pain  strike  under  my  belt  and  was  afraid  to  look,  for  I  knew 
the  part  was  mortal.  But  at  length  I  exerted  my  will,  and 
controlled  my  fear,  and  saw  my  trousers  torn.  My  first 
wound  had  deadened  my  leg,  but  I  felt  no  great  pain  —  the 
leg  was  numb.  The  new  blow  was  torture.  I  managed  to 
take  down  my  clothing,  and  saw  a  great  blue-black  spot  on 
my  groin.  I  was  confused,  and  wondered  where  the  bullet 
went,  and  perhaps  became  unconscious. 

Darkness  was  coming,  and  Jones  or  Berwick,  or  whoever 
I  was,  yet  lay  on  the  hill.  Now  there  were  dead  men  and 
wounded  men  around  me.  Had  a  tide  of  war  flowed  over  me 
while  I  slept  ?  A  voice  feebly  called  for  help,  and  I  crawled 
to  the  voice,  but  could  give  no  help  except  to  cut  a  shoe  from 
a  crushed  foot.  The  flashes  of  rifles  could  be  seen,  —  the 
enemy's  rifles,  —  they  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and  I  felt 
doomed  to  capture. 

Then  from  the  rear  a  roar  of  voices,  and  in  the  gathering 
gloom  a  host  of  men  swept  over  me,  disorderly,  but  charging 
hard  —  the  last  charge  of  Gaines's  Mill. 

"  What  troops  are  you  ?  "  I  had  strength  to  ask,  and  two 
replied :  — 

''  Hood's  brigade." 

"  The  Hampton  Legion." 

******* 

Night  had  come.  The  great  battle  was  won.  Lights  flashed 
and  moved  and  disappeared  over  the  hills  and  hollows  of  the 


IN  THE   GREAT   BATTLE  339 

field,  —  men  with  torches  and  lanterns  ;  and  names  of  regiments 
were  shouted  into  the  darkness  by  the  searchers  for  wounded 
friends  who  replied,  and  for  others  who  could  not.  At  last  I 
heard :  "  First  South  Carolina !  First  South  Carolina ! "  and 
I  gathered  up  my  strength  and  cried,  "Here!  "  Louis  Bellot 
and  two  others  came  to  me.  They  carried  me  tenderly  away, 
but  not  far;  still  in  the  field  of  blood  they  laid  me  down  on 
the  hillside  —  and  a  night  of  horror  passed  slowly  away. 
******* 

The  next  morning,  June  28th,  they  bore  me  on  a  stretcher 
back  to  the  field  hospital  near  Dr.  Gaines's,  just  in  rear 
of  the  battlefield.  Our  way  was  through  scattered  corpses. 
We  passed  by  many  Zouaves,  lying  stiff  and  stark;  one  I 
shall  always  call  to  mind:  he  was  lying  flat  on  his  back,  the 
soles  of  his  feet  firm  on  the  ground,  his  knees  drawn  up  to 
right  angles  above,  and  with  his  elbows  planted  on  the  grass, 
his  fingers  clinched  the  air.  His  open  mouth  grinned  ghastly 
on  us  as  we  went  by. 

At  the  field  hospital  the  dangerously  wounded  were  so 
numerous  that  I  was  barely  noticed ;  a  brief  examination ; 
"  flesh  wound  "  —  that  was  all.  I  had  already  found  out  that 
the  bullet  had  passed  entirely  through  the  fleshy  part  of  my 
thigh,  and  I  had  no  fears;  but  the  limb  now  gave  me  great  pain, 
and  I  should  have  been  glad  to  have  it  dressed.  I  was  laid 
upon  the  ground  under  a  tree  and  remained  there  until  night, 
when  I  was  put  with  others  into  an  ambulance  and  taken  to 
some  station  on  some  railroad  —  I  have  never  known  what 
station  or  what  road.  The  journey  was  painful.  I  was  in 
the  upper  story  of  the  ambulance.  We  jolted  over  rough 
roads,  halting  frequently  because  the  long  train  filled  the 
road  ahead.  The  men  in  the  lower  story  were  badly  wounded, 
groaning,  and  begging  for  this  or  that.  I  did  not  know 
their  voices ;  they  were  not  of  our  company.  But  some  time 
in  the  night  I  learned  somehow  —  I  suppose  by  his  com- 
panion calling  his  name  —  that  one  of  the  men  below  me  was 


340  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

named  Virgil  Harley.  Harley  ?  I  thought  —  Virgil  Harley  ? 
Why,  I  knew  that  name  once  !  Surely  I  knew  that  name  in 
South  Carolina!  And  I  would  have  spoken,  but  was  made 
aware  that  Virgil  Harley  was  wounded  unto  death.  When  we 
reached  the  railroad,  I  was  taken  out  and  lifted  into  a  car.  I 
asked  about  Virgil  Harley.     "  He  is  dead,"  was  the  answer. 

Then  I  felt  more  than  ever  alone  because  of  this  slightest 
opportunity,  now  lost  forever.  Virgil  Harley  might  have  been 
able  to  tell  me  of  myself.  He  was  dead.  I  had  not  even  seen 
him.  I  had  but  heard  his  voice  in  groans  that  ended  in  the 
death-rattle. 


XXVI 


A   BROKEN    MUSKET 


"  What  seest  thou  else 
In  the  dark  backward  and  abysm  of  time  ? 
If  thou  remember'st  ought,  ere  thou  cam'st  here, 
How  thou  cam'st  here,  thou  may'st."  —  Shakespeare. 

When  the  train  of  wounded  arrived  in  Richmond,  it  was 
early  morning.  Many  men  and  women  had  forsaken  their 
beds  to  minister  unto  the  needs  of  the  suffering;  delicacies 
were  served  bountifully,  andhearts  as  well  as  stomachs  were 
cheered;  there  were  evidences  of  sympathy  and  honour  on 
every  hand. 

Late  in  the  forenoon  I  was  taken  to  Byrd  Island  Hospital 
—  an  old  tobacco  factory  now  turned  into  something  far  dif- 
ferent. My  clothing  was  cut  from  me  and  taken  away.  Then 
my  wound  —  full  of  dirt  and  even  worms — was  carefully 
dressed.  The  next  morning  the  nurse  brought  me  the  con- 
tents of  my  pockets.  She  gave  me,  among  the  rest,  a  marble 
and  a  flattened  musket-ball,  which  she  had  found  in  the 
watch-pocket  of  my  trousers.  Now  I  recalled  that  I  had  put 
my  "  taw "  in  that  pocket ;  the  bullet  had  struck  the  marble, 
which  had  saved  me  from  a  serious  if  not  fatal  wound. 

The  ward  in  which  I  found  myself  contained  perhaps  a  hun- 
dred wounded  men,  not  one  of  whom  I  knew,  though  there 
were  a  few  belonging  to  my  regiment  —  other  companies  than 
mine.  Acquaintance  was  quickly  made,  however,  by  men  on 
adjoining  cots ;  but  no  man,  I  think,  was  ever  called  by  his 
name.  He  was  Georgia,  or  Alabama,  —  his  State,  whatever 
that  was.    My  neighbours  called  me,  of  course,  South  Carolina. 

341 


342  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

Many  had  fatal  wounds ;  almost  every  morning  showed  a 
vacant  cot.  I  remember  that  the  man  on  the  next  cot  at 
my  left,  whose  name  in  ward  vernacular  was  Alabama,  had  a 
story  to  tell.  One  morning  I  noticed  that  he  was  wearing  a 
clean  white  homespun  shirt  on  which  were  amazingly  big 
blue  buttons.  I  allowed  myself  to  ask  him  why  such  buttons 
had  been  used.  He  replied  that,  a  month  before,  he  had  been 
on  furlough  at  his  home  in  Alabama,  and  that  his  mother  had 
made  him  two  new  shirts,  and  had  made  use  of  the  extraor- 
dinary objects  which  I  now  saAv  because  they  were  all  she  had. 
He  had  told  her  jestingly  that  she  was  putting  that  big  blue 
button  on  the  middle  of  his  breast  to  be  a  target  for  some 
Yankee ;  and,  sure  enough,  the  wound  which  had  sent  him  to 
the  hospital  was  a  rifle  shot  that  struck  the  middle  button. 
I  laughed,  and  Alabama  laughed,  too,  but  not  long.     He  died. 

Eor  nearly  two  months  I  remained  in  this  woful  hospital. 
Life  there  was  totally  void  of  incident.  After  the  first  week, 
in  which  we  learned  of  the  further  successes  of  the  Confeder- 
ate arms  and  of  our  final  check  at  Malvern  Hill,  anxiety  was 
no  longer  felt  concerning  Lee's  army,  now  doing  nothing  more 
than  watching  McClellan,  who  had  intrenched  on  the  river 
below  Kichmoud,  under  the  protection  of  the  Federal  fleet. 
We  learned  with  some  degree  of  interest  that  another  Federal 
army  was  organizing  under  General  Pope  somewhere  near 
Warrenton ;  but  Southern  hopes  were  so  high  in  consequence 
of  the  ruin  of  McClellan's  campaign,  and  the  manifest  safety  of 
Eichmond,  that  the  new  army  gave  us  no  concern ;  of  course 
I  am  speaking  of  the  common  soldiers  amongst  whom  I  found 
myself. 

At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  my  wound  was  beginning  to  heal  a 
little,  and  in  ten  days  more  I  began  to  hobble  about  the  room 
on  crutches.  On  the  first  day  of  August  I  was  surprised  to  see 
Joe  Bellot  enter  the  ward.  The  brigade  had  marched  into 
Richmond,  and  was  about  to  take  the  cars  for  Gordonsville  in 
order  to  join  Jackson,  who  was  making  head  against  Pope.     It 


A  BROKEN   MUSKET  343 

was  only  a  few  minutes  that  Bellot  could  stay  with  me ;  he  had 
to  hurry  back  to  the  command. 

Then  I  became  restless.  The  surgeons  told  me  that  I  could 
get  a  furlough  ;  but  what  did  I  want  with  a  furlough  ?  To  go 
home  ?     My  home  was  Company  H. 

I  was  limping  about  without  crutches,  and  getting  strong 
rapidly,  when  the  papers  told  us  of  Jackson's  encounter  with 
Banks  at  Cedar  Run.  Then  my  feverish  anxiety  to  see  the  one 
or  two  persons  in  the  world  whom  I  loved  became  intense.  I 
walked  into  the  surgeon's  ofl&ce,  keeping  myself  straight,  and 
asked  an  order  remanding  me  to  my  company.  lie  flatly  re- 
fused to  give  it.  Said  he,  "  You  would  never  reach  your  com- 
pany ;  where  is  it,  by  the  way  ?  " 

"  Kear  Gordonsville,  somewhere,"  said  I. 

"  I  will  find  out  to-day  ;    come  to  me  to-morrow  morning." 

On  the  next  day  he  said,  "  Your  regiment  is  on  the  Rapidan. 
You  would  have  to  walk  at  least  twenty  miles  from  Gordons- 
ville; it  would  be  insane." 

"  Doctor,"  said  I,  ^'I  am  confident  that  I  can  march." 

"Yes,"  said  he;  "so  am  I;  you  can  march  just  about  a 
mile  and  a  half  by  getting  somebody  to  tote  your  gun  and 
knapsack.     Come  to  me  again  in  about  a  week." 

I  came  to  him  four  days  afterward,  and  worried  him  into 
giving  me  my  papers,  by  means  of  which  I  got  transportation 
to  G-ordonsville,  where  I  arrived,  in  company  with  many 
soldiers  returning  to  their  commands,  on  August  22d.  From 
Gordonsville  I  took  the  road  north  afoot.  There  was  no 
difficulty  in  knowing  the  way,  for  there  was  no  lack  of  men 
and  wagons  going  and  returning.  I  had  filled  a  haversack 
with  food  before  I  left  Richmond  —  enough  for  two  days. 
My  haversack,  canteen,  and  a  blanket  were  all  my  possessions. 

At  about  two  o'clock  the  next  day,  as  I  was  plodding  over 
a  hot,  dusty  road  somewhere  in  Culpeper  County,  I  met  a 
wagon,  which  stopped  as  I  approached.  The  teamster  beck- 
oned to  me  to  come  to  him.     He  said :  "  Don't  go  up  that  hill 


344    '  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

yonder.  There  is  a  crazy  man  in  the  road,  and  he's  a-tryin' 
to  shoot  everybody  he  sees.  Better  go  round  him."  I  thanked 
the  teamster,  who  drove  on.  At  the  foot  of  the  ascending 
hill  I  looked  ahead  to  see  whether  there  was  a  way  to  get 
round  it,  but  the  road  seemed  better  than  any  other  way. 
Heavy  clouds  were  rolling  up  from  the  south,  with  wind  and 
thunder.  A  farmhouse  was  on  the  hill  at  the  left  of  the  road ; 
I  wanted  to  get  there  if  possible  before  the  rain.  In  the  road 
I  saw  nobody.  I  walked  up  the  hill,  thinking  that,  after  all, 
my  friend  the  wagoner  was  playing  a  practical  joke  upon  me. 
All  at  once,  from  the  side  of  the  road,  a  Confederate  soldier 
showed  himself.  He  sprang  into  the  middle  of  the  road  some 
six  paces  in  front  of  me,  presented  his  gun  at  me  with  de- 
liberate aim,  and  pulled  the  trigger  without  saying  a  word. 
Altogether  it  was  a  very  odd  performance  on  his  part  and  an 
unpleasant  experience  for  me.  When  his  gun  failed  to  fire,, 
he  changed  his  attitude  at  once,  and  began  the  second  part 
of  his  programme.  He  dropped  his  piece  to  the  position  of 
ordered  arms,  kept  himself  erect  as  on  dress-parade,  raised 
his  right  hand  high,  and  shouted,  "  The  cannons !  the  can- 
nons ! " 

I  stood  and  looked  at  him  ten  seconds;  then  I  tried  to 
slip  round  him,  keeping  my  eyes  on  him,  however,  for  fear 
that  his  gun  might,  after  all,  be  loaded;  he  faced  me  again, 
and  repeated  his  cry.  ''  The  cannons  !  the  cannons  ! " 

The  rain  was  beginning  to  fall  in  big  drops.  I  rushed  past 
him,  and  seeing  —  nearer  to  me  than  the  house  —  some 
immense  haystacks  with  overhanging  projections  resulting 
from  continued  invasion  by  cattle,  I  was  soon  under  their 
sheltering  eaves.  As  I  ran,  I  could  hear  behind  me  the 
warning  voice  of  the  soldier,  who  evidently  had  lost  his 
reason  in  battle. 

As  night  fell  on  the  24th  I  was  standing  behind  a  tree,  wait- 
ing to  surprise  Company  H.     I  had  reached  the  lines  while 


A  BROKEN   MUSKET  345 

they  were  moving;  Hill's  Light  Division  was  passing  me. 
Soon  came  General  Gregg,  riding  at  the  head  of  his  brigade ; 
then  one  regiment  after  another  till  the  last  —  the  First  — 
appeared  in  sight,  with  Company  C  leading.  I  remained 
behind  the  tree ;  at  last  I  could  see  Captain  Haskell  marching 
by  the  side  of  Orderly-sergeant  Mackay ;  then  I  stepped 
out  and  marched  by  the  side  of  the  Captain.  At  first,  in  the 
twilight,  he  did  not  know  me;  then,  with  a  touch  of  gladness 
in  his  voice,  he  said :  ''  I  did  not  expect  you  back  so  soon. 
Are  you  fully  recovered  ?  " 

''  I  report  for  duty.  Captain,"  I  replied. 

He  made  me  keep  by  his  side  until  we  halted  for  the  night, 
and  had  me  tell  him  my  experiences  in  the  hospital  and  on 
the  road.  He  informed  me  briefly  of  the  movements  which 
had  taken  place  recently.  The  regiment  had  been  under  fire 
in  the  battle  with  Banks,  but  had  not  suffered  any  loss.  On 
this  day  —  the  24th  —  the  regiment  had  been  under  fire  of  the 
Federal  artillery  on  the  Rappahannock.  We  were  now  near 
the  river  at  a  place  called  Jeffersonton,  and  were  apparently 
entering  npon  the  first  movements  of  an  active  campaign. 

The  company  was  much  smaller  than  I  had  known  it.  We 
had  lost  in  the  battles  of  the  Chickahominy  many  men  and  offi- 
cers. Disease  and  hardship  had  further  decreased  our  ranks. 
Captain  Haskell  was  almost  the  only  officer  in  the  company. 
My  mess  had  broken  up.  There  were  but  four  remaining  of  the 
original  nine,  and  these  four  had  found  it  more  convenient  for 
two  men,  or  even  one,  to  form  a  mess.  I  found  a  companion 
in  Joe  Bellot,  whose  brother  had  been  wounded  severely  at 
Gaines's  Mill.  Bellot  had  a  big  quart  cup  in  which  we  boiled 
soup,  and  coffee  when  we  had  any,  or  burnt-bread  for  coffee 
when  the  real  stuff  was  lacking.  Flour  and  bacon  were  issued 
to  the  men.  We  kneaded  dough  on  an  oilcloth,  or  gum-blanket 
as  the  Yankee  prisoners  called  it,  and  baked  the  dough  by 
spreading  it  on  barrel-heads  and  propping  them  before  the  fire. 
When  these  boards  were  not  to  be  had,  we  made  the  dough 


346  WHO   GOES   THEKE  ? 

into  long  slender  rolls,  which  we  twined  about  an  iron  ramrod 
and  put  before  the  fire  on  wooden  forks  stuck  in  the  ground. 
My  haversack  of  food  brought  from  liichmond  was  exhausted ; 
this  night  but  one  day's  ration  was  issued. 

On  the  next  morning  Jackson  began  his  movement  around 
Pope's  right.  I  had  no  rifle,  or  cartridge-box,  or  knapsack,  and 
managed  so  as  to  keep  up.  Being  unarmed,  I  was  allowed  to 
march  at  will  — in  the  ranks  or  not,  as  I  chose.  The  company 
numbered  thirty-one  men.  The  day's  m:uch  was  something 
terrible.  We  went  west,  and  northwest,  and  north,  fording 
streams,  taking  short  cuts  across  fields,  hurrying  on  and  on. 
No  train  of  wagons  delayed  our  march ;  our  next  rations  must 
be  won  from  the  enemy.  Jackson's  rule  in  marching  was  two 
miles  in  fifty  minutes,  then  ten  minutes  rest,  —  but  this  day 
there  was  no  rule ;  we  simply  marched,  and  rested  only  when 
obstacles  compelled  a  halt,  —  which  loss  must  at  once  be  made 
up  by  extra  exertion.  At  night  we  went  into  bivouac  near  a 
village  called  Salem.  We  were  now  some  ten  or  fifteen  miles 
to  the  west  of  Pope's  right  flank. 

There  were  no  rations,  and  the  men  were  broken  and  hungry. 
A  detail  from  each  company  was  ordered  to  gather  the  green 
ears  from  some  fields  of  corn  purchased  for  the  use  of  the 
government.  That  night  I  committed  the  crime  of  eating 
eighteen  of  the  ears  half  roasted. 

At  daylight  on  the  26th  we  again  took  up  the  march.  I  soon 
straggled.  I  was  deathly  sick.  Captain  Haskell  tried  to  find 
a  place  for  me  in  some  ambulance,  but  failed.  I  went  aside 
into  thick  woods  and  lay  down ;  I  slept,  and  when  I  awoke  the 
sun  was  in  mid-heaven,  and  Jackson's  corps  was  ten  miles  ahead, 
but  I  was  no  longer  ill.  The  troops  had  all  passed  me ;  there 
were  no  men  on  the  road  except  a  few  stragglers  like  myself. 
I  hurried  forward  through  White  Plains  —  then  along  a  rail- 
road through  a  gap  in  some  mountains  —  then  through  Gaines- 
ville at  dark  —  and  at  last,  about  ten  o'clock  at  night,  after 


A  BROKEN   MUSKET  347 

questioning  until  I  was  almost  in  despair,  I  found  Company  H 
asleep  in  a  clover  field.     Still  no  rations. 

Before  dawn  of  the  27th  we  were  waked  by  the  sound  of 
musketry  toward  the  east  —  seemingly  more  than  two  miles 
away.  We  moved  at  sunrise,  and  soon  reached  Manassas 
Junction,  already  held  by  our  troops.  Up  to  this  time  I  had 
been  unarmed,  and  all  the  men  destitute  of  food;  here  now 
was  an  embarrassment  of  riches.  I  got  a  short  Enfield  rii]e, 
marked  for  eleven  hundred  yards.  Everything  was  in  abundance 
except  good  water.  The  troops  of  Jackson  and  Ewell  and  Hill 
crammed  their  haversacks,  and  loaded  themselves  with  what- 
ever their  fancies  chose  —  ludicrous  fancies  in  too  many  cases. 
Hams  could  be  seen  on  bayonets.  Comstock  got  a  lot  of  smok- 
ing tobacco  and  held  to  it  tenaciously,  refusing  to  divide.  Cans 
of  vegetables,  and  sardines,  and  preserved  fruits  ;  coffee,  sugar, 
tea,  medicines  —  everything,  even  to  women's  wearing  apparel, 
was  taken  or  burnt.  Our  regiment  lay  by  a  muddy  pool  whose 
water  we  were  forced  to  drink,  though  filth  —  even  horses'  bones 
—  lay  on  its  margin,  and  I  know  not  what  horrors  beneath  its 
green,  slimy  surface.  Before  daylight  of  the  28th  we  marched 
northward  in  the  glare  of  the  burning  cars  and  camps.  We 
crossed  Bull  Run  on  a  bridge,  some  of  the  men  fording ;  here 
we  got  better  water,  but  not  good  water. 

In  the  forenoon  we  reached  Centreville  and  halted.  Nobody 
seemed  to  know  the  purpose  of  this  movement  toward  the  north. 
Were  we  making  for  Washington  ?  I  had  the  chance  of  speak- 
ing to  the  Captain.  He  told  me  that  he  thought  Jackson's  corps 
was  in  a  close  place,  but  that  he  had  no  doubt  we  should  be  able 
to  hold  our  own  until  Longstreet  could  force  his  way  to  our  help. 
We  were  between  Pope's  army  and  Washington,  and  it  was  cer- 
tain that  Pope  would  make  every  effort  to  crush  Jackson. 

About  two  o'clock  the  troops  were  put  in  motion,  heading 
west,  down  the  Warrenton  pike.  It  now  appeared  that  only 
A.  P.  Hill's  division  had  marched  to  Centreville ;  the  other 
divisions  of  Jackson's  corps  were  at  the  west,  and   beyond 


348  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

Bull  Run.  After  marcliing  a  mile  or  two  we  could  see  to 
the  eastward  and  south  great  clouds  of  dust  rolling  up  above 
the  woods,  evidently  made  by  a  column  in  march  upon  the  road 
by  which  we  had  that  morning  advanced  from  Manassas  to 
Centreville.  We  knew  that  Pope's  army  —  or  a  great  part  of 
it  —  was  making  that  dust,  and  that  Pope  was  hot  after  Jack- 
son. We  crossed  Bull  Run  on  the  stone  bridge  and  halted  in 
the  road.  It  was  about  five  o'clock ;  the  men  were  weary  — 
most  of  us  had  loaded  ourselves  too  heavily  with  the  spoils  of 
Manassas  and  were  repenting,  but  few  had  as  yet  begun  to  throw 
away  their  booty.  My  increased  burden  bore  upon  me,  but  I 
had  as  yet  held  out ;  in  fact,  the  greater  part  of  my  load  — 
beyond  weapon  and  accoutrements  —  consisted  in  food  which 
diminished  at  short  intervals.    We  could  not  yet  expect  rations. 

We  had  rested  perhaps  half  an  hour.  Again  we  were 
ordered  to  march,  and  moved  to  the  right  through  woods 
and  fields,  and  formed  line  facing  south.  How  long  our  line 
was  I  did  not  know ;  I  supposed  the  whole  of  Hill's  division 
was  there,  though  I  could  see  only  our  regiment.  Soon  firing 
began  at  our  right  and  right  front;  it  increased  in  volume, 
and  artillery  and  musketry  roared  and  subsided  until  dark 
and  after.  At  dark,  the  brigade  again  moved  to  the  right, 
seemingly  to  support  the  troops  that  had  been  engaged,  and 
which  we  found  to  be  Ewell's  division. 

We  lay  on  our  arms  in  columns  of  regiments.  We  were 
ordered  to  preserve  the  strictest  silence.  We  were  told  that 
a  heavy  column  of  the  enemy  was  passing  just  beyond  the 
hills  in  front  of  us.  Suddenly  the  sound  of  many  voices 
broke  out  beyond  the  hills.  The  Federal  column  was  cheer- 
ing. Near  and  far  the  cry  rose  and  fell  as  one  command 
after  another  took  it  from  the  next.  What  the  noise  was 
made  for  I  never  knew,  probably  Pope's  sanguine  order,  in 
which  he  expressed  the  certainty  of  having  "  the  whole  crowd 
bagged,"  had  been  made  known  to  his  troops  for  the  purpose 
of  encouraging   them.     Our   men  were   silent,    even   gloomy, 


A  BROKEN   MUSKET  349 

not  knowing  wliat  good  fortune  had  made  our  enemies  sound 
such  high,  triumphant  notes;  yet  I  believe  that  every  man, 
as  he  lay  in  his  unknown  position  that  night,  had  confidence 
that  in  the  battle  of  the  morrow,  now  looked  for  as  a  cer- 
tainty, the  genius  of  Lee  and  of  Jackson  would  guide  us  to 
one  more  victory. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  Friday,  the  29th,  we  moved,  but 
where  I  do  not  know  —  only  that  we  moved  in  a  circuitous 
way,  and  not  very  far,  and  that  when  we  again  formed  line, 
we  seemed  to  be  facing  northeast.  Already  the  sound  of 
musketry  and  cannon  had  been  heard  close  in  our  front.  Our 
regiment,  left  in  front,  was  in  the  woods.  We  brought  our 
right  in  front,  and  then  the  brigade  moved  forward  down 
a  slope  to  an  unfinished  railroad. 

Comstock  had  given  away  all  of  his  smoking  tobacco,  say- 
ing that  he  would  not  need  it. 

Company  H  had  been  thrown  out  to  left  and  front  as 
skirmishers.  The  regiment  moved  across  the  railroad  and 
through  the  woods  into  the  fields  beyond,  far  to  the  right 
of  the  position  held  by  Company  H.  The  regiment  met  the 
enemy  in  heavy  force ;  additional  regiments  from  the  brigade 
were  hurried  to  the  support  of  the  First,  which,  by  this  time, 
was  falling  back  before  a  full  division  of  the  enemy.  The 
brigade  retired  in  good  order  to  the  railroad,  and  Company  H 
was  ordered  back  into  the  battle  line  on  the  left  of  the  First. 

It  was  almost  ten  o'clock.  Four  companies  of  the  First 
regiment,  under  Captain  Shooter,  were  now  ordered  forward 
through  the  woods  as  skirmishers ;  on  the  left  of  this  force 
was  Haskell's  company.  We  came  up  with  the  enemy's  skir- 
mishers posted  behind  trees,  and  began  firing.  We  advanced, 
driving  the  Yankee  skirmish-line  slowly  through  the  woods. 
After  some  fluctuations  in  the  fight,  seeing  that  our  small 
force  was  much  too  far  from  support,  order  was  given  to 
the  skirmishers  to  retire ;  a  heavy  line  of  the  enemy  had 
been  developed.     This  order  did  not  reach  my  ears.     I  sup- 


850 


WHO   GOES   THESE? 


A- Where  J  ones  found  a  broken  musket 

(  before  the  Federals  advanced.) 

SECOND  MANASSAS,  Aug.  29,1862 


NGBAVED  BY  BOHMAY   4  C 


A  BROKEN  MUSKET  351 

pose  that  I  was  in  the  very  act  of  firing  when  the  order 
was  given.  While  reloading,  I  became  aware  that  the  com- 
pany had  retired,  as  I  could  see  no  man  to  my  right  or  left. 
Looking  round,  I  saw  the  line  some  thirty  yards  in  my  rear, 
moving  back  toward  the  brigade.  Now  I  feared  that  in 
retreating,  my  body  would  be  a  target  for  many  rifles.  The 
Yankees  were  not  advancing.  I  sprang  back  quickly  from 
my  tree  to  another.  Eifles  cracked.  Again  I  made  a  similar 
movement  —  and  again  —  at  each  tree,  as  I  got  behind  it, 
pausing  and  considering  in  front.  At  last  I  was  out  of  sight 
of  the  enemy,  and  also  out  of  sight  of  Company  H. 

The  toils  of  the  last  week  had  been  hard  upon  me.  My 
wounded  leg  had  not  regained  its  full  strength.  I  was  hot 
and  thirsty  as  well  as  weak.  I  crossed  a  wet  place  in  the 
low  woods  and  looked  for  water.  Still  no  enemy  was  pursu- 
ing. I  searched  for  a  spring  or  pool,  following  the  wet  place 
down  a  gentle  slope,  which  inclined  to  my  right  oblique  as 
I  retreated.  Soon  I  found  a  branch  and  drank  my  fill ;  then 
I  filled  my  canteen  and  rose  to  my  feet  refreshed. 

Just  below  me,  uprooted  by  some  storm,  lay  a  giant  poplar 
spanning  the  little  brook.  I  stepped  upon  the  log  and  stood 
there  for  a  second.  Here  was  a  natural  retreat.  If  I  had 
wanted  to  hide,  this  spot  was  what  I  should  have  chosen. 
The  boughs  of  the  fallen  tree,  mingling  with  the  copse,  made 
a  complete  hiding-place. 

The  more  I  looked,  the  more  the  spot  seemed  to  bind  me. 
I  began  to  wonder.  Surely  this  was  not  my  first  sight  of 
this  spot.  Had  I  crossed  here  in  the  morning  ?  No ;  we 
had  moved  forward  much  to  the  right.  What  was  the  secret 
of  the  influence  which  the  spot  held  over  me  ?  I  had  seen 
it  before  or  I  had  dreamed  of  it.     I  was  greatly  puzzled. 

On  the  ground  lay  the  broken  parts  of  a  rust-eaten  musket. 
I  picked  up  the  barrel ;  it  was  bent ;  I  threw  it  down  and 
picked  up  the  stock.  Why  should  I  be  interested  in  this 
broken  gun  ?    I  knew  not,  but  I  knew  that  I  was  drawn  in 


352  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

some  way  by  it.  On  tlie  stock  were  carved  the  letters  J.  B. 
Who  had  owned  this  gun  ?  John  Brown  ?  James  Butler  ? 
Then  the  thought  came  suddenly  —  why  not  Jones  Berwick  ? 
No  !  That  was  absurd  !  But  why  absurd  ?  Did  I  know  who 
I  was,  or  where  I  had  been,  or  where  I  had  not  been  ? 

A  shot  and  then  another  rang  out  in  the  woods  at  my  left ; 
I  dropped  the  gun  and  ran. 

I  soon  overtook  Company  H  retiring  slowly  through  the 
woods.  And  now  we  made  a  stand,  as  the  brigade  was  in  sup- 
porting distance.  Our  position  was  perhaps  three  hundred 
yards  in  front  of  the  brigade,  which  was  posted  behind  the 
old  railroad.  Thick  woods  were  all  around  us.  Soon  the  blue 
skirmishers  came  in  sight,  and  we  began  firing.  The  Federals 
sprang  at  once  to  trees  and  began  popping  away  at  us.  The 
range  was  close.  Grant  was  mortally  hit.  My  group  of  four 
on  that  day  was  reduced  to  one  man.  Goettee  fell,  and  Godley. 
We  kept  up  the  fight.  But  now  a  blue  line  of  battle  could  be 
seen  advancing  behind  the  skirmishers.  They  kept  coming, 
reserving  their  fire  until  they  should  pass  beyond  their  skir- 
mish-line. We  should  have  withdrawn  at  once,  but  waited 
until  the  line  of  battle  had  reached  the  skirmishers  before  we 
were  ordered  to  fall  back.  When  we  began  to  retire,  the  line 
of  battle  opened  upon  us,  and  we  lost  some  men. 

Company  H  formed  in  its  place  on  the  left  of  the  Eirst, 
which  was  now  the  left  regiment  of  the  brigade,  of  the 
division,  and  of  the  corps.  Company  H  was  in  the  air  at  the 
left  of  Jackson's  line. 

General  Lee  had  planned  to  place  Jackson's  corps  in  rear  of 
Pope's  army,  without  severing  communication  with  Longstreet; 
but  the  developments  of  the  campaign  had  thrown  Jackson 
between  Pope  and  Washington  while  yet  the  corps  of  Long- 
street  was  two  days'  march  behind,  and  beyond  the  Bull  Run 
mountains.  Pope  had  made  dispositions  to  crush  Jackson ;  to 
delay  Longstreet  he  occupied  with  a  division  Thoroughfare 
Gap,  —  through  which  Jackson  had  marched  and  I  had  strag- 


A  BROKEN   MUSKET  353 

gled  on  the  26tli, —  and  with  his  other  divisions  had  marched 
on  Manassas.  Jackson  had  thus  been  forced  to  retreat  toward 
the  north  in  order  to  gain  time.  When  Hill's  division  reached 
Centreville,  it  turned  west,  as  already  related,  and  while  Pope 
was  marching  on  Centreville  Jackson  was  marching  to  get 
nearer  Longstreet.  This  placed  Ricketts's  division  of  Pope's 
army,  which  had  occupied  Thoroughfare  Gap  for  the  pur- 
pose of  preventing  the  passage  of  Longstreet,  between  Long- 
street  and  Jackson.  Ricketts  was  thus  forced  to  yield  the 
gap  after  having  delayed  Longstreet  during  the  night  of  the 
28th.  Pope  could  now  have  retired  to  Washington  without  a 
battle,  but  he  decided  to  overwhelm  Jackson  before  Longstreet 
could  reach  the  field,  and  attacked  hotly  on  the  Confederate 
left. 

The  battle  of  Friday,  the  29th  of  August,  was  fought  then 
in  consequence  of  the  double  motive  already  hinted  at,  namely, 
that  of  Pope  to  overwhelm  Jackson,  and  of  Jackson  to  resist 
and  hold  Pope  until  Longstreet  came.  Jackson's  manoeuvres 
had  brought  him  within  six  hours'  march  of  Longstreet,  and 
while  Jackson's  men  were  dying  in  the  woods,  Longstreet's 
iron  men,  covered  with  dust  and  sweat,  were  marching  with 
rapid  and  long  strides  to  the  sound  of  battle  in  their  front, 
where,  upon  their  comrades  at  bay.  Pope  was  throwing  division 
after  division  into  the  fight. 

Upon  the  left  of  Company  H  was  a  small  open  field,  enclosed 
by  a  rail  fence ;  the  part  of  the  field  nearest  us  was  unplanted ; 
the  far  side  of  the  field  —  that  nearest  the  enemy  —  was  in  corn. 
The  left  of  our  line  did  not  extend  quite  to  the  fence,  but  at 
some  times  in  the  battle  we  were  forced  to  gather  at  the  fence 
and  fire  upon  the  Federals  advancing  through  the  field  to  turn 
our  left. 

Company  H  had  hardly  formed  in  its  position  upon  the 

extreme  left  before  the  shouts  of  the  Federal  line  of  battle 

told  of   their  coming   straight   through  the  woods   upon   us. 

They  reached  the  undergrowth  which   bordered  the  farther 

2a 


354  WHO  GOES   THERE? 

side  of  the  railroad  way.  The  orders  of  their  officers  could  be 
heard.  We  lay  in  the  open  woods,  each  man  behind  a  tree  as 
far  as  was  possible ;  but  the  trees  were  too  few.  The  dense 
bushes,  which  had  grown  up  in  the  edge  of  the  railroad  way, 
effectually  concealed  the  eueiuy.  We  were  hoping  for  them 
to  come  on  and  get  into  view,  but  they  remained  in  the  bushes 
and  poured  volley  after  volley  into  our  ranks.  We  returned 
their  fire  as  well  as  we  could,  but  knew  that  many  of  our  shots 
would  be  wasted,  as  we  could  rarely  have  definite  aim,  except 
at  the  line  of  smoke  in  the  thick  bushes. 

Now  the  firing  ceased,  and  we  thought  that  the  enemy  had 
retired ;  but  if  they  had  done  so,  it  was  only  to  give  place  to  a 
fresh  body  of  troops,  which  opened  upon  us  a  new  and  terrific 
fire.  We  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  endure  and  fire  into  the 
bushes.  If  our  line  had  attempted  to  cross  the  railroad,  not 
one  of  us  would  have  reached  it ;  the  Federals  also  were  afraid 
to  advance. 

Again  there  came  a  lull  in  the  fight,  but,  as  before,  it  was 
only  premonitory  of  another  tempest  of  balls.  How  many 
attacks  we  stood  that  day  nobody  on  our  side  clearly  knew. 
Again  the  Federal  lines  gave  way,  or  were  relieved.  Our  line 
still  held.  The  woods  were  thick  with  dead.  Comstock  was 
dead.  Bail  was  dead.  Bee  and  Box  were  dead.  Joe  Bellot 
was  fearfully  wounded.  Many  had  been  carried  to  the  rear, 
and  many  yet  lay  bleeding  in  our  ranks,  waiting  to  be  taken 
out  when  the  fight  ceased.  Each  man  lay  behind  the  best 
tree  he  could  get ;  the  trees  had  become  more  plentiful.  We 
fired  lying,  kneeling,  standing,  sometimes  running ;  but  the  line 
held.  If  we  had  had  but  the  smallest  breastwork! — but  we 
had  none. 

In  the  afternoon  the  Federals  tried  more  than  once  to  throw 
a  force  around  our  left — through  the  open  field;  but  each  time 
they  were  driven  back  by  our  oblique  fire,  helped  by  a  battery 
which  we  could  not  see,  somewhere  in  our  rear,  I  now  sup- 
pose that  before  this  time  Longstreet  had  formed  on  Jackson's 


A   BROKEN   MUSKET  365 

right ;  the  sounds  of  great  fighting  came  from  the  east  and 
southeast. 

We  had  resisted  long  enough.  Our  cartridges  were  gone, 
although  our  boxes  had  more  than  once  been  replenished,  and 
we  had  used  up  the  cartridges  of  our  wounded  and  dead. 

Just  before  the  sun  went  down,  the  woods  suddenly  became 
alive  with  Yankees.  A  deafening  volley  Avas  poured  upon  our 
weakened  ranks,  —  no  longer  ranks,  but  mere  clusters  of  men, 
^but  the  shots  went  high;  before  the  smoke  lifted,  the  blue 
men  were  upon  us ;  they  had  not  waited  to  reload. 

Many  of  our  men  had  not  a  cartridge,  but  the  enemy  were  so 
near  that  every  shot  told. 

Their  line  is  thinned;  they  come  still,  but  in  disconnected 
groups ;  they  are  almost  in  our  midst ;  straight  toward  me 
comes  a  towering  man — his  sleeves  show  the  stripes  of  a  ser- 
geant. His  great  form  and  his  long  red  hair  are  not  more  con- 
spicuous than  the  vigour  of  his  bearing.  He  makes  no  pause. 
He  strikes  right  and  left.  Men  fall  away  from  him.  Our 
group  is  scattering,  some  to  gain  time  to  load,  others  in  flight. 
The  great  sergeant  rushes  toward  me ;  his  gun  rises  again  in 
his  mighty  hands,  and  the  blow  descends.  I  slip  aside;  the 
force  of  the  blow  almost  carries  him  to  the  ground,  but  he 
recovers;  he  comes  again;  again  he  swings  his  gun  back  over 
his  shoulder,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  my  head  where  he  will  strike. 
I  raise  my  gun  above  my  head  —  at  the  parry.  Suddenly  his 
expression  yields — a  look  as  if  of  astonishment  succeeds  to 
fixed  determination — and  at  the  same  instant  his  countenance 
passes  through  an  indescribable  change  as  the  blood  spouts 
from  his  forehead  and  he  falls  lifeless  at  my  feet,  slain  by  a 
shot  from  my  rear.^ 

Confusion  is  everywhere.  Ones,  twos,  groups,  are  beginning 
to  flee  from  either  side.     Here  and  there  a  small  body  of  men 

1  The  attack  at  sunset  described  by  Mr.  Bei-wick  was  made  by  Grover's 
brigade,  of  Hooker's  division,  and  succeeded  in  driving  back  Gregg's  worn-out 
imu,  v.lio  were  at  once  relieved  by  Early's  brigade  of  Ewell's  division.    [Ed.] 


356  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

yet  hold  fast  and  figlit.  The  shouting  is  more  than  the  firing. 
At  my  right  I  see  our  flag,  and  near  it  a  flag  of  the  Fed- 
erals. 

In  a  moment  comes  a  new  line  of  the  enemy ;  our  ranks  — 
what  is  left  of  them  —  must  yield.  We  begin  to  run.  I  hear 
Dominic  Spellman  —  colour-bearer  of  the  First  —  cry  out, 
"  Jones,  for  God's  sake,  stop  ! "  I  turn.  A  few  have  rallied 
and  are  bringing  out  the  flag.  Our  line  is  gone  —  broken  — 
and  Jackson's  left  is  crumbling  away.  Defeat  is  here — in  a 
handbreadth  of  us  —  and  Pope's  star  will  shine  the  brightest 
over  America ;  but  now  from  our  rear  a  Confederate  yell  rises 
high  and  shrill  through  the  bullet-scarred  forest,  and  a  fresh 
brigade  advances  at  the  charge,  relieves  the  vanquished  troops 
of  Gregg,  and  rolls  far  back  the  Federal  tide  of  war.  It  was 
none  too  soon. 

On  the  morning  of  the  29th  of  August  thirty-one  men  had 
answered  roll-call  in  Company  H.  On  the  morning  of  the 
30th  but  thirteen  responded ;  we  had  lost  none  as  prisoners. 

The  30th  was  Saturday.  The  division  was  to  have  remained 
in  reserve.  We  were  yet  lying  in  the  woods,  some  hundreds 
of  yards  in  the  rear  of  our  position  of  the  29th,  and  details 
were  burying  our  dead,  when  we  were  ordered  to  form.  We 
marched  some  distance  to  the  left.  A  low  grass-covered 
meadow  was  in  our  front,  with  a  rail  fence  at  the  woods  about 
three  hundred  yards  from  us.  Bullets  came  amongst  us  from 
the  fence  at  the  woods,  toward  which  we  were  marching  in 
column  of  fours,  right  in  front.  I  heard  the  order  from 
Major  McCrady  —  "Battalion — by  companies!"  and  Haskell 
repeated  —  "Company  H!"  —  then  McCrady  —  "On  the  right 
—  by  file  —  into  line  —  March  !  "  This  manoeuvre  brought 
the  regiment  into  column  of  companies  still  marching  in  its 
former  direction,  Company  H  being  the  rear  of  all. 

Again  I  heard  McCrady  —  "Battalion  —  by  companies!'* 
and  Haskell  again  —  "  Company  H!"  —  then  McCrady  — 
"Left— half  wheel!''   and  Hsiskell —  "  Left  wheel  !"— then 


A   BROKEN   MUSKET  357 

McCrady  —  "  Forward  into  line"  and  both  voices  —  "  Double- 
quick  —  March  ! " 

It  was  a  beautiful  manoeuvre,  performed  as  it  was  under  a 
close  fire  and  by  men  battle-sick  and  void  of  vanity.  The 
respective  companies  executed  simultaneously  their  work,  and 
as  their  graduated  distances  demanded,  rushed  forward,  with 
a  speed  constantly  increasing  toward  the  left  company.  Com- 
pany H,  which  wheeled  and  ran  to  place,  forming  at  the 
fence  from  which  the  enemy  fled.  We  lost  Major  McCrady, 
who  fell  severely  wounded. 

For  the  remainder  of  that  bloody  day  the  First  was  not 
engaged.  We  heard  the  great  battle  between  Lee  and  Pope, 
but  took  no  further  part. 

On  the  first  of  September,  as  night  was  falling,  we  were 
lying  under  fire,  in  a  storm  of  rain,  in  the  battle  of  Ox 
Hill,  or  Chantilly  as  the  Yankees  call  it.  The  regiment  did 
not  become  engaged. 

The  campaign  of  eight  days  was  over. 


XXVTI 

CAPTAIX    HASKELL 

"  Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting. 
The  soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  Star, 
Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting, 
And  coraeth  from  afar  ; 
Not  in  entire  forgetfuln ess. 
And  not  in  utter  nakeduess. 
But  trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 
From  God  who  is  our  home."  —  Wordsworth. 

I  BELIEVE  I  have  already  said  tliat  in  the  battle  of  Manassas 
Joe  Bellot  was  severely  wounded.  My  companion  gone,  I 
messed  and  slept  alone. 

For  a  day  or  two  we  rested,  or  moved  but  short  distances. 
On  one  of  these  days,  the  company  being  on  picket,  the  Captain 
ordered  me  to  accompany  him  in  a  round  of  the  vedettes. 
While  this  duty  was  being  done,  he  spoke  not  a  word  except 
to  the  sentinels  whom  he  ordered  in  clear-cut  speech  to  main- 
tain strict  vigilance.  When  the  duty  had  ended,  he  turned  to 
me  and  said,  "  Let  us  go  to  that  tree  yonder." 

The  point  he  thus  designated  was  just  in  rear  of  our  left  — 
that  is,  the  left  of  Company  H's  vedettes  — and  overlooked  both 
vedettes  and  pickets,  so  far  as  they  could  be  seen  for  the  irregu- 
larities of  ground.  Arriving  at  the  tree,  the  Captain  threw  off 
all  official  reserve. 

"  Friday  was  hard  on  Company  H,"  he  said ;  "  and  the  whole 
company  did  its  full  duty,  if  I  may  say  so  without  immodesty." 

"  Captain,"  I  replied,  "  I  thought  it  was  all  over  with  us 
when  the  Yankees  made  that  last  charge." 

368 


CAPTAIN   HASKELL  359 

"  As  you  rightly  suggest,  sir,  we  should  have  beeu  relieved 
earlier,"  said  he ;  "I  am  informed  that  in  the  railroad  cut,  a 
little  to  the  right  of  our  position,  the  men  fought  the  enemy 
with  stones  for  lack  of  cartridges." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  have  heard  that.  Can  you  predict  our  next 
movement  ?  " 

"  I  know  too  little  of  strategy  to  do  that,"  he  said ;  "  but  I 
am  convinced  that  we  cannot  remain  where  we  are." 

"  Why  ?  "  I  asked. 

''  I  venture  the  opinion  that  we  are  too  far  from  our  supplies. 
I  am  told  that  we  cannot  maintain  the  railroad  back  to  Gor- 
donsville.  The  bridges  are  burnt ;  I  doubt  that  any  stej^s  will 
be  taken  to  rebuild  them,  as  they  would  be  constantly  in 
danger  from  the  enemy's  cavalry.  I  am  informed  that  Mc- 
Clellan's  whole  army,  as  well  as  Burnside's  corps  from  Xorth 
Carolina,  has  joined  Pope ;  General  McClellan  is  said  to  be  in 
command.  If  Pope's  army,  which  we  have  just  fought,  was 
larger  than  ours,  then  McClellan's  combined  forces  must  be 
more  than  twice  as  great  as  General  Lee's." 

"  Yet  some  of  the  men  think  we  shall  advance  on  Washing- 
ton," said  I. 

"  The  men  discuss  everything,  naturally,"  he  replied ;  ^'  1 
speculate  also.  It  seems  to  me  that  every  mile  of  a  further 
advance  would  but  take  from  our  strength  and  add  to  that  of 
our  enemy's.  If  we  could  seize  Washington  by  a  sudden  ad- 
vance —  but  we  cannot  do  that,  I  think,  and  as  for  a  siege,  I 
suppose  nobody  thinks  of  it.  Even  to  sit  down  here  could  do 
us  no  good,  I  imagine ;  our  communications  would  be  always 
interrupted." 

"  Then  we  shall  retreat  after  having  gained  a  great  victory  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  It  would  give  me  great  pleasure  to  be  able  to  tell  you.  I 
am  puzzled,"  he  replied.  "  The  victory  may  be  regarded  as  an 
opportunity  to  gain  time  for  the  South  to  recuperate,  if  we 
make  prudent  demonstrations;  but  an  actual  advance  does  not 


360  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

appear  possible.  General  Lee  may  make  a  show  of  ad- 
vancing; I  dare  say  we  could  gain  time  by  a  pretence  of 
strength.  Does  not  such  manoeuvre  meet  your  view  ?  But 
we  are  fearfully  weak,  and  our  enemies  know  it  or  should 
know  it." 

I  understood  well  enough  that  the  Captain's  question  was 
but  an  instance  of  his  unfailing  habit  of  courtesy. 

"  Then  what  is  there  for  us  to  do  ?  If  we  ought  not  to 
stay  here,  and  ought  not  to  advance  on  Washington,  and 
ought'  not  to  retreat,  what  other  course  is  possible  ?  " 

"There  seems  but  one,  sir.  I  hear  that  the  best  opinion 
leans  to  the  belief  that  General  Lee  will  cross  the  Potomac 
in  order  to  take  Harper's  Ferry  and  to  test  the  sentiment 
of  the  Maryland  people." 

"  What  is  at  Harper's  Ferry,  Captain  ?  " 

"I  am  informed  that  there  is  a  great  quantity  of  supplies 
and  a  considerable  garrison." 

"But  could  such  an  effort  succeed  in  the  face  of  an  army 
like  McClellan's  ?  " 

"If  the  Federals  abandon  the  place,  as  they  ought  to  do 
at  once,  I  should  think  that  there  would  then  be  no  good 
reason  for  this  army's  crossing  the  river.  But  military  suc- 
cess is  said  to  be  obtained,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  from 
the  mistakes  of  the  losers.  It  might  be  that  we  could  take 
Harper's  Ferry  at  very  little  cost;  and  even  if  we  should 
fail,  we  should  be  prolonging  the  campaign  upon  ground  that 
we  cannot  hope  to  occupy  permanently,  and  living,  in  a  sense, 
upon  the  enemy.  What  I  fear,  however,  is  that  the  move- 
ment would  bring  on  another  general  engagement ;  and  I 
think  you  will  agree  with  me  in  believing  that  we  are  not 
prepared  for  that." 

"  Harper  s  Ferry  is  the  place  John  Brown  took,"  said  I. 

"  You  are  right,  sir ;  do  you  remember  that  ?  " 

"That  is  the  last  thing  that  I  remember  reading  about  — 
the  last  experience  I  can  remember  at  all ;  but  in  the  fight 


CAPTAIN   HASKELL  361 

last  Friday  there  happened  something  which  gives  me  a  turn 
whenever  I  think  of  it." 

"  May  I  ask  what  it  was  ?  " 

"I  saw  a  spot  which  I  am  sure  —  almost  sure  —  I  had 
seen  before." 

"  Some  resemblance,  I  dare  say.  I  often  pass  scenes  that 
are  typical.  Near  my  father's  home  I  know  one  spot  which 
I  have  seen  in  twenty  other  places." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  know,"  said  I.  "  But  it  was  not  merely  the 
physical  features  of  the  place  that  awoke  recognition." 

"  Oblige  me  by  telling  me  all  about  it,"  he  said  kindly. 

"You  remember  the  position  to  which  the  four  companies 
advanced  as  skirmishers  ?  " 

"  Distinctly.  We  did  very  well  to  get  away  from  it,"  said 
the  Captain. 

"  And  you  remember  the  order  to  fall  back  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  since  I  took  the  initiative." 

"Well,  I  did  not  hear  the  order.  I  suppose  that  I  fired 
at  the  very  moment,  and  that  the  noise  of  my  gun  prevented 
my  hearing  it.  At  any  rate,  a  few  moments  afterward  I 
saw  that  I  was  alone,  and  retreated  as  skilfully  as  I  knew 
how.  The  company  was  out  of  sight.  I  saw  some  signs  of 
water,  and  soon  found  a  branch,  at  a  place  which  impressed 
me  so  strongly  that  for  a  moment  I  forgot  even  that  the  bat- 
tle was  going  on.  I  am  almost  certain  that  I  had  quenched 
my  thirst  at  that  spot  once  before.  Besides,  there  was  an 
extraordinary  —  " 

"Jones,"  interrupted  the  Captain,  "you  may  have  been 
in  the  first  battle  of  Manassas.  Why  not  ?  But  if  you  saw 
the  place  in  last  year's  battle,  you  came  upon  it  from  the 
east  or  the  south.  The  positions  of  the  armies  the  other 
day  were  almost  opposite  their  positions  last  year.  In  sixty- 
one  the  Federals  had  almost  our  position  of  last  Friday.  It 
will  be  well  to  find  out  what  South  Carolina  troops  were  in 
the  first  battle.     By  the  way.  General  Bee,  who  was   killed 


362  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

there,  was  from  South  Carolina;  I  will  ask  Aleck  to  tell  us 
what  regiments  were  in  Bee's  brigade." 

"Captain,"  said  I,  "when  I  saw  that  spot  I  felt  as  though 
I  had  been  there  in  some  former  life." 

"  Yes  ?  I  have  had  such  feelings.  More  than  once  I 
have  had  a  thought  or  have  seen  a  face  or  a  landscape  that 
impressed  me  with  such  an  idea." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  a  succession  of  lives  ?  " 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  do,"  he  replied;  "but  your  question 
surprises  me,  sir.  May  I  ask  if  you  remember  reading  of  such 
subjects  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not.  Captain ;  but  I  know  that  the  thought  must 
have  once  been  familiar  to  me." 

"I  dare  say  you  have  read  some  romance,"  said  he,  "or, 
there  is  no  telling,  you  may  have  known  some  one  who  be- 
lieved the  doctrine  ;  you  may  have  believed  it  yourself.  And 
I  doubt  that  mere  reading  would  have  influenced  your  mind 
to  attach  itself  so  strongly  to  thoughtful  subjects.  I  find  you 
greatly  interested  in  philosophy.  I  think  it  quite  probable, 
sir,  without  flattery,  that  at  college  your  professor  had  an  apt 
student." 

"But  you  do  not  believe  the  doctrine  ?  " 

"I  believe  in  Christ  and  His  holy  apostles,  sir;  I  believe 
that  we  live  after  death." 

"  And  that  I  shall  be  I  again  and  again  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me  for  not  following  you  entirely.  I  believe  that 
you  will  be  you  again ;  but  my  opinion  is  not  fixed  as  to  more 
than  one  death." 

"  Do  you  believe  that  when  you  live  again  you  will  remem- 
ber your  former  experience  ?  " 

"  I  lean  to  that  belief,  sir,  yet  I  consider  it  unimportant ;  I 
might  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  it  makes  no  difference." 

"But  how  can  I  be  I  if  I  do  not  remember?  What  will 
connect  the  past  me  with  the  present  me  ?  I  have  a  strange, 
elusive  thought  there,  Captain.      It  sometimes  seems  to  me 


CAPTAIN   HASKELL  363 

that  I  am  two,  —  one  before,  and  another  now, — and  that 
really  I  have  lived  this  present  time,  or  these  present  times, 
in  two  bodies  and  with  two  minds." 

"  Allow  me  to  ask  if  it  is  not  possible  that  your  strange 
thought  as  to  your  imagined  doubleuess  is  caused  by  your 
believing  that  memory  is  necessary  to  identity  ?  " 

"  And  that  is  error  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  You  say  truly,  sir ;  it  is  error.  Your  own  experience  dis- 
proves it.  If  memory  is  necessary,  you  have  lost  yoiir  per- 
sonality ;  but  you  have  a  personality,  —  permit  me  to  say  a 
strong  one,  —  and  whose  have  you  taken  ?  " 

''  I  do  remember  some  things,"  said  I. 

"  Then  do  you  not  agree  with  me  th:i,t  your  very  memory 
is  proof  that  you  are  not  double  ?  But,  if  you  please,  take  the 
case  of  any  one.  Every  one  has  been  an  infant,  yet  he  can- 
not remember  what  happened  when  he  was  in  swaddling 
clothes,  though  he  is  the  same  person  now  that  he  was  then, 
which  proves  that  although  a  person  loses  his  memory,  he  does 
not  on  that  account,  sir,  lose  his  identity." 

"  Then  what  is  the  test  of  identity.  Captain  ?  " 

"It  needs  none,  sir;  consciousness  of  self  is  involuntary." 

"I  have  consciousness  of  self;  yet  1  do  not  know  who  I  am, 
except  that  I  am  I." 

"Every  man  might  say  the  same  words,  sir,"  said  he, 
smiling. 

"  And  I  am  distinct  ?  independent  ?  " 

"Jones,  my  dear  fellow,  there  are  many  intelligent  people 
in  the  world  who,  I  dare  say,  would  think  us  demented  if 
they  should  know  that  we  are  seriously  considering  such  a 
question." 

This  did  not  seem  very  much  of  an  Answer  to  my  mind, 
which  in  some  inscrutable  way  seemed  to  be  at  this  moment 
groping  among  fragments  of  thoughts  that  had  come  unbiddea 
from  the  forgotten  past.  I  felt  helpless  in  the  presence  of  the 
Captain ;  I  could  not  presume  to  press  his  good-nature.     Per- 


364  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

haps  he  saw  my  thought,  for  he  added :  "  A  man  is  distinct 
from  other  men,  but  not  from  himself.  He  constantly 
changes,  and   constantly  remains    the    same." 

"  That  is  hard  to  understand.  Captain." 

"  Everything,  sir,  is  hard  to  understand,  because  everything 
means  every  other  thing.  If  we  could  fully  comprehend  one 
thing,  even  the  least,  —  if  there  be  a  least,  —  we  should  neces- 
sarily comprehend  all  things,"  said  the  Captain. 

Then  he  talked  at  large  of  the  relations  that  bind  every- 
thing, —  and  of  matter,  force,  spirit,  which  he  called  a  trinity. 

*'  Then  matter  is  of  the  same  nature  with  God  ?  "  I  asked ; 
"  and  God  has  the  properties  of  matter  ?  " 

"  By  no  means,  sir.  God  has  none  of  the  properties  of  matter. 
Even  our  minds,  sir,  which  are  more  nearly  like  unto  God  than 
is  anything  else  we  conceive,  have  no  properties  like  matter. 
Yet  are  we  bound  to  matter,  and  our  thoughts  are  limited." 

"  How  can  the  mind  contemplate  God  at  all  ?  " 

"  By  pure  reason  only,  sir.  The  imagination  betrays.  We 
try  to  image  force,  because  we  think  that  we  succeed  in  imag- 
ing matter.  We  try  to  image  spirit.  I  suppose  that  most 
people  have  a  notion  as  to  how  God  looks.  Anything  that  has 
not  extension  is  as  nothing  to  our  imagination.  Yet  we  know 
that  our  minds  are  real,  though  we  cannot  attribute  extension 
to  mind.  Divisibility  is  of  matter ;  if  the  infinite  mind  has 
parts,  then  infinity  is  divisible  —  which  is  a  contradiction." 

"  Then  God  has  no  properties  ?  " 

"  Kot  in  the  sense  that  matter  has,  sir.  If  God  has  one  of 
them,  He  has  all  of  them.  If  we  attribute  extension  to  Him, 
we  must  attribute  elasticity  also,  and  all  of  them.  But  try  to 
think  of  an  elastic  universal." 

"  Captain,  you  said  a  while  ago  that  everything  is  matter, 
force,  and  spirit.  Do  you  place  force  as  something  intermediate 
between  God  and  matter  ?  " 

"Certainly,  sir;  force  is  above  matter,  and  mind  is  above 
force." 


CAPTAIN   HASKELL  365 

"  I  have  heard  that  force  is  similar  to  matter  in  that  nothing 
of  it  can  be  lost,"  said  I. 

"When  and  where  did  you  hear  that?"  asked  the  Captain, 
looking  at  me  fixedly,  almost  sternly. 

The  question  almost  brought  me  to  my  feet.  "VVTien  and 
■where  had  I  heard  it  ?  My  attention  had  been  so  fastened  on 
the  Captain's  philosophy  that  it  now  seemed  to  me  that  I  had 
become  unguarded,  and  that  from  outside  of  me  a  thought  had 
been  sent  into  my  mind  by  some  unknown  power ;  I  could  not 
know  whence  the  thought  had  come.  I  had  suddenly  felt  that 
I  had  heard  the  theory  in  question.  I  knew  that,  the  moment 
before,  I  could  not  have  said  what  I  did.  But  I  had  spoken 
naturally,  and  without  feeling  that  I  was  undergoing  an  experi- 
ence. I  stared  back  at  Captain  Haskell.  Then  I  became  aware 
of  the  fact  that  at  the  moment  when  I  had  spoken  I  had  known 
consciously  when  it  was  and  where  it  was  that  I  had  heard  the 
theory,  and  I  felt  almost  sure  that  if  I  had  spoken  differently, 
if  I  had  only  said,  "  From  Mr.  Such-a-one,  or  at  such  a  place 
or  time,  I  had  heard  the  theory,"  I  should  now  have  a  clew  to 
something.     But  the  flash  had  vanished. 

"  It  is  lost,"  I  said. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  he. 

"  It  is  like  the  J.  B.  on  the  broken  gun,"  said  I. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  finish  telling  you  of  my  experience  at  that  spot 
where  I  got  water  last  Friday.  Right  in  that  spot  was  a 
broken  gun  with  J.  B.  on  the  stock." 

'*  Are  you  sure,  Jones  ?  " 

"  I  picked  up  both  pieces  of  the  gun  and  looked  at  them 
closely." 

"Perhaps  your  seeing  J.  B.  on  the  gun  gave  rise  to  your 
other  reflections." 

"  Not  at  all ;  the  gun  came  last,  not  first." 

"  What  you  are  telling  me  is  very  remarkable,"  said  the 
Captain;  "you  almost  make  me  believe  that  you  are  right  in 


366  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

saying  that  your  name  is  Jones  Berwick.  However,  J.  B.  is 
no  uncommon  combination  of  initials.  Suppose  Lieutenant 
Barnwell  had  found  the  gun." 

"  If  he  had  found  J.  G.  B.  on  it,  he  would  have  wondered," 
said  I. 

"True;  but  do  you  know  that  J.  G.  B.  is  many  times  more 
difficult  than  J.  B.  ?  " 

"No,  Captain;  I  hardly  think  so ;  these  are  the  days  of  three 
initials." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right  in  that,"  he  said. 

"And  I  know  I  am  right  about  my  name,"  said  I. ' 

"  Still,  the  whole  affair  may  be  a  compound  of  coincidences. 
We  have  three  —  or  did  have  three  —  other  men  in  the  com- 
pany whose  initials  are  J.  B.,  —  Bail,  Box,  and  Butler.  Of 
course  you  could  not  recognize  your  own  work  in  the  letter- 
ing ?  " 

"No,  sir;  anybody  might  have  cut  those  letters,  just  as 
anybody  might  imitate  print.  And  I  think.  Captain,  that  there 
is  not  another  J.  B.  in  Lee's  army  who  would  have  supposed 
for  an  instant  that  he  had  any  connection  with  that  gun." 

"  Suppose,  then,  that  I  call  you  Berwick  hereafter  ?  " 

"No,  I  thank  you.  Captain.  I'd  rather  be  to  you  Jones  than 
Berwick.  Besides,  if  you  should  change  now,  it  would  cause 
remark." 

"I  think  I  shall  ask  my  brother  Aleck  to  find  out  what 

South  Carolina  regiments  were  in  the  first  battle  of  Manassas," 

said  he.     "  You  may  go  with  me  to  see  him  to-night  if  you 

will." 

******** 

That  night  Captain  A.  C.  Haskell,  the  assistant  adjutant- 
general,  was  able  to  inform  me  that  Bee's  brigade  had  not 
been  composed  of  troops  from  South  Carolina,  although  Gen- 
eral Bee  himself  was  from  that  state.  After  hearing  my  descrip- 
tion of  the  place  which  I  thought  I  had  revisited,  he  expressed 
the  opinion  that  no  Confederate  troops  at  all  had  reached  the 


CAPTAm   HASKELL  367 

spot  in  the  battle  of  sixty-one.  The  place,  he  said,  was  more 
than  a  mile  from  the  position  of  the  Confederate  army  in  the 
battle;  still,  he  admitted,  many  scattered  Federals  retreated 
over  the  ground  which  interested  me  so  greatly,  and  it  was  pos- 
sible that  some  Confederates  had  been  over  it  to  seek  plunder 
or  for  other  purposes ;  but  as  for  pursuit,  there  had  been  none. 
I  asked  if  it  could  have  been  possible  for  me  to  be  a  prisoner 
on  that  day  and  to  be  led  away  to  the  rear  of  the  Federals. 
"  If  so,"  he  replied,  "  you  would  not  have  been  allowed  to  keep 
or  to  break  your  gun.  Moreover,  the  whole  army  lost  in 
missing  too  few  men  to  base  such  a  theory  on ;  the  loss  was 
just  a  baker's  dozen  in  both  Beauregard's  and  Johnston's 
forces.  For  my  part,  I  think  it  more  likely  that,  if  you  were 
there  at  all,  you  were  there  as  a  scout,  or  as  a  vedette.  Gen- 
eral Evans  —  Old  Shanks,  the  boys  call  him  —  began  the 
battle  with  the  Fourth  South  Carolina.  He  was  at  Stone 
Bridge,  and  found  out  before  nine  o'clock  that  McDowell  had 
turned  our  left  and  was  marching  down  from  Sudley.  You 
might  have  been  sent  out  to  watch  the  enemy ;  yet  I  am  con- 
fident that  Evans  would  have  used  his  cavalry  for  that  pur- 
pose, for  he  had  a  company  of  cavalry  in  his  command.  A 
more  plausible  guess  might  be  that  you  were  out  foraging  that 
morning  and  got  cut  off.  I  will  look  up  the  Fourth  South 
Carolina  for  you,  and  try  to  learn  something.  Yet  the  whole 
thing  is  very  vague,  and  I  should  not  advise  you  to  hope  for 
anything  from  it.  I  am  now  convinced  that  you  did  not 
originally  belong  to  this  brigade.  You  would  have  been 
recognized  long  ago.  By  the  way,  I  have  had  a  thought  in 
connection  with  your  case.  You  ought  to  write  to  the  hotel  in 
Aiken  and  find  out  who  you  are." 

"  I  wonder  why  I  never  thought  of  that !  "  I  exclaimed. 
"I  suppose  that  a  letter  addressed  to  the  manager  would 
answer." 

"  Certainly." 

"But  —  "  I  began. 


368  WHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

"  But  what  ?  " 

"  If  I  write,  what  can  I  say  ?  Can  I  sign  a  letter  asking  an 
unknown  man  to  tell  me  who  I  am  ?" 

"  Write  it  and  sign  it  Berwick  Jones,"  said  Captain  Haskell, 
who  by  this  speech  seemed  to  give  full  belief  that  my  name 
was  reversed  on  the  roll  of  his  company. 

As  we  walked  back  to  our  bivouac  that  night  I  asked  the 
Captain  whether,  in  the  improbable  event  of  our  finding  that  I 
had  belonged  to  the  Fourth,  I  could  not  still  serve  with  Com- 
pany H.  He  was  pleased,  evidently,  by  this  question,  and 
said  that  he  should  certainly  try  to  hold  me  if  I  wished  to 
remain  with  him,  and  should  hope  to  be  able  to  do  so,  as 
transfers  were  frequently  granted,  and  as  an  application  from 
me  would  come  with  peculiar  force  when  the  circumstances 
should  be  made  known  at  headquarters.  Of  course,  there 
would  be  no  difficulty  unless  the  application  should  be  disap- 
proved by  my  company  commander,  that  is,  the  commander 
of  my  original  company. 

******* 

I  wrote  a  letter,  addressed  "  Manager  of  Hotel,  Aiken,  S.C." 
inquiring  if  a  man  named  Jones  Berwick  had  been  a  guest  at 
his  house  about  October  17,  1859,  and  if  so,  whether  it  was 
possible  to  learn  from  the  hotel  register,  or  from  any  other 
known  source,  the  home  of  said  Berwick. 

To  anticipate,  it  may  be  said  here  that  no  answer  ever 
came. 


XXVIII 

BEYOND    THE    POTOMAC 

"  Thus  far  our  fortune  keeps  an  upward  course, 
And  we  are  graced  with  wreaths  of  victory  ; 
But,  in  the  midst  of  this  bright-shining  day, 
I  spy  a  black,  suspicious,  threat'ning  cloud, 
That  will  encounter  with  our  glorious  sun." 

—  Shakespeare. 

We  left  the  position  near  Fairfax  Court-House  early  in 
September,  and  marched  northward,  crossing  the  Potomac  on 
the  5th  at  White's  Ford  near  Edwards's  Ferry.  We  reached 
Fredericktown  in  Maryland  about  midday  of  the  6th,  after  a 
fatiguing  tramp  which,  for  the  time,  was  too  hard  for  me. 
My  wound  had  again  given  me  trouble;  while  wading  the 
Potomac  I  noticed  fresh  blood  on  the  scar. 

We  rested  at  Fredericktown  for  three  or  four  days.  One 
morning  Owens  of  Company  H,  while  quietly  cooking  at  his 
fire,  suddenly  fell  back  and  began  kicking  and  foaming  at  the 
mouth.  We  ran  to  him,  but  could  do  nothing  to  help  him. 
He  struggled  for  a  few  moments  and  became  rigid.  Some 
man  ran  for  the  surgeon;  I  thought  there  was  no  sense  in 
going  for  help  when  all  was  over.  The  surgeon  came  and 
soon  got  Owens  upon  his  feet.  This  incident  made  a  deep 
impression  on  me.  It  seemed  a  forcible  illustration  of  the 
trite  sayings :  "  Never  give  up,"  "  While  there's  life  there's 
hope,"  and  it  became  to  me  a  source  of  frequent  encouragement. 
******* 

On  the  10th  we  marched  westward  from  Fredericktown.  In 
the  gap  of  the  Catoctin  Mountains  we  came  in  sight  of  the 
2  b  369 


370  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

most  beautiful  valley,  dotted  with  farms  and  villages.  Wliere 
the  enemy  was,  nobody  seemed  to  know. 

We  passed  through  Middletown  and  Boonsboro,  and  re- 
crossed  the  Potomac  at  Williamsport,  where  we  learned  defi- 
nitely that  Longstreet's  wing  of  the  army  had  been  held  in 
Maryland.  We  marched  southward  to  Martinsburg.  The 
inhabitants  were  greatly  rejoiced,  and  were  surprised  to  find 
Confederate  troops  coming  amongst  them  from  the  north. 
At  Martinsburg  were  many  evidences  that  we  were  near  the 
enemy.  Captain  Haskell  said  that  it  was  now  clear  that  Lee 
intended  to  take  Harper's  Ferry,  and  that  Longstreet's  reten- 
tion on  the  north  side  of  the  Potomac  was  part  of  the  plan. 
We  destroyed  the  railroad  near  Martinsburg,  moving  along  it 
toward  the  east.  Late  in  the  forenoon  of  the  13th  we  came 
in  sight  of  Harper's  Ferry.  The  short  siege  of  the  place  had 
already  been  begun ;  cannon  from  our  front  and  from  a  moun- 
tain side  on  our  right  were  throwing  shells  into  the  enemy's 
lines,  and  the  enemy's  batteries  were  replying. 

On  the  night  of  the  14th  Gregg's  brigade  marched  to  the 
right.  We  found  a  narrow  road  running  down  the  river,  — 
the  Shenandoah, — and  moved  on  cautiously.  There  were 
strict  orders  to  preserve  silence.  The  guus  were  uncapped,  to 
prevent  an  accidental  discharge.  In  the  middle  of  the  night 
we  moved  out  of  the  road  and  began  to  climb  the  hill  on  our 
left ;  it  was  very  steep  and  rough ;  we  pulled  ourselves  up  by 
the  bushes.  Pioneers  cut  a  way  for  the  artillery,  and  lines  of 
men  drew  the  guns  with  ropes. 

When  morning  came  our  guns  commanded  the  intrenchments 
of  the  enemy.  Our  batteries  were  in  full  action,  the  brigade 
in  line  of  battle.  The  enemy  replied  with  all  his  guns,  but 
they  were  soon  silenced.  A  brigade  at  our  left  seemed  ready 
to  advance ;  the  enemy's  artillery  opened  afresh.  Then  from 
our  left  a  battery  stormed  forward  to  a  new  position  much 
nearer  to  the  enemy.  We  were  ordered  to  fix  bayonets  and 
the  line  began  to  advance,  but  was  at  once  halted.     Harper's 


BEYOND  THE  POTOMAC  371 

Ferry  had  been  surrendered,  with  eleven  thousand  pris- 
oners and  seventy  pieces  of  artillery,  and  munitions  in  great 
quantity. 

We  had  been  hearing  at  intervals,  for  the  last  day  or  two, 
far-off  sounds  of  artillery  toward  the  north.  On  the  night 
after  the  surrender,  A.  P.  Hill's  men  knew  that  theirs  was 
the  only  division  at  Harper's  Ferry,  the  two  other  divisions 
of  Jackson's  corps  having  marched  away,  some  said  to  the 
help  of  Longstreet  on  the  north  side  of  the  Potomac;  then  we 
felt  that  some  great  event  was  near,  and  we  wondered  whether 
it  should  befall  us  to  remain  distant  from  the  army  during  a 
great  engagement. 

The  16th  passed  tranquilly.  Sounds  of  artillery  could  be 
heard  in  the  north  and  northwest,  but  we  had  nothing  to  do 
but  to  rest  in  position  while  our  details  worked  in  organizing 
the  captured  property.  The  prisoners  were  not  greatly  down- 
cast. We  learned  that  they  were  to  be  released  on  parole. 
Crowds  of  them  had  gathered  along  the  roads  on  the  loth  to 
see  Stonewall  Jackson  whenever  he  rode  by,  and  they  seemed 
to  admire  him  no  less  than  his  own  men  did.  Late  in  the 
afternoon  the  regiment  marched  out  of  the  lines  of  Harper's 
Ferry  and  bivouacked  for  the  night  some  two  miles  to  the 
west  of  the  town. 

On  the  17th  the  division  was  put  in  motion  on  a  road  run- 
ning up  the  Potomac.  The  march  began  at  sunrise.  Soon 
the  sounds  of  battle  were  heard  far  in  front,  and  the  step  was 
lengthened.  The  day  was  hot,  and  the  road  was  dusty.  Fre- 
quently we  went  at  double-quick.  About  one  o'clock  we 
waded  the  Potomac  below  Shepherdstown.  Beyond  the  river 
the  march  turned  northeast — a  rapid  march;  many  men  had 
fallen  out  before  we  reached  the  river ;  now  many  more  began 
to  straggle.  All  the  while  the  roar  of  a  great  battle  extended 
across  our  front,  mostly  in  our  left  front.  We  passed  through 
a  village  called  Sharpsburg.  Its  streets  were  encumbered 
with  wagons,   ambulances,  stragglers,  wounded  men,  and  all 


372  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

the  horrid  results  of  war  that  choke  the  roads  in  rear  of  an 
army  engaged  in  a  great  battle. 

Beyond  the  village  we  turned  to  the  right.  We  marched  up 
one  side  of  a  hill  and  down  the  other  side.  On  the  slope  of 
the  opposite  hill  we  halted,  some  of  the  troops  being  protected 
by  a  stone  fence.  The  noise  of  battle  was  everywhere,  and 
increasing  at  our  right,  almost  on  our  right  flank.  Wounded 
men  were  streaming  by  ;  the  litter-bearers  were  busy.  Noth- 
ing is  so  hard  to  bear  as  waiting  while  in  expectation  of  being 
called  on  to  restore  a  lost  battle  from  which  the  wounded  and 
dead  are  being  carried.     Our  time  was  near. 

Thick  corn  was  growing  on  the  hillside  above  us.  General 
Gregg  dismounted.  His  orders  reached  our  ears  and  were 
repeated  by  the  colonels  and  the  captains.  We  were  to 
advance. 

While  Jackson  had  marched  south  from  Maryland  in  order 
to  effect  the  capture  of  Harper's  Ferry,  Longstreet  had  retired 
before  McClellan,  who  had  collected  an  immense  army  and 
had  advanced.  The  North  had  risen  at  the  first  news  that  Lee 
had  crossed  the  Potomac,  and  McClellan's  army,  vast  as  it 
was,  yet  continued  to  receive  reenforcements  almost  daily; 
his  army  was  perhaps  stronger  than  it  had  been  before  his 
disastrous  campaign  of  the  Chickahominy.  His  troops  on 
James  River  had  marched  down  the  Peninsula  and  had  been 
taken  in  transports  to  Fredericksburg  and  Alexandria.  Por- 
ter's and  Heintzelman's  corps  of  McClellan's  army  had  fought 
under  Pope  in  the  second  battle  of  Manassas.  Now  McClellan 
had  his  own  army,  Pope's  army,  Burnside's  corps,  and  all 
other  troops  that  could  be  got  to  his  help.  To  delay  this  army 
until  Jackson  could  seize  Harper's  Ferry  had  been  the  duty 
intrusted  to  Longstreet  and  his  lieutenants.  But  Longstreet 
with  his  twenty  thousand  were  now  in  danger  of  being  over- 
whelmed. On  the  15th,  in  the  afternoon  of  the  surrender  at 
Harper's  Ferry,  two  of  Jackson's  divisions  had  marched  to 
reenforce  Longstreet.     Had  not  time  been  so  pressing,  Hill's 


BEYOND   THE  POTOMAC  373 

division  -would  not  have  been  ordered  to  assault  the  works  at 
Harper's  Eerry  —  an  assault  which  was  begun  and  which  was 
made  unnecessary  by  the  surrender. 

McClellan  knew  the  danger  to  Harper's  Eerry  and  knew  of 
the  separation  of  the  Confederate  forces.  A  copy  of  General 
Lee's  special  order  outlining  his  movements  had  fallen  into 
General  McClellan's  hands.  This  order  was  dated  September 
9th ;  it  gave  instructions  to  Jackson  to  seize  Harper's  Ferry, 
and  it  directed  the  movements  of  Longstreet.  With  this 
information,  General  McClellan  pressed  on  after  Longstreet; 
he  ordered  General  Eranklin  to  carry  Crampton's  Gap  and 
advance  to  the  relief  of  Harper's  Ferry. 

On  Sunday,  the  14th,  McClellan's  advanced  divisions 
attacked  D.  H.  Hill's  division  in  a  gap  of  South  Moun- 
tain, near  Boonsboro,  and  Franklin  carried  Crampton's  Gap, 
farther  to  the  south.  Though  both  of  these  attacks  were 
successful,  the  resistance  of  the  Confederates  had  in  each  case 
been  sufficient  to  gain  time  for  Jackson.  On  the  15th  Har- 
per's Ferry  surrendered,  and  McClellan  continued  to  advance  ; 
Longstreet  prepared  for  battle. 

The  next  day,  at  nightfall,  the  Federals  were  facing  Lee's 
army,  the  Antietam  creek  flowing  between  the  hostile  ranks. 

At  3  P.M.  of  the  17th,  A.  P.  Hill's  division,  after  a  forced 
march  of  seventeen  miles,  and  after  fording  the  Potomac, 
found  itself  in  front  of  the  left  wing  of  the  Federal  army,  — 
consisting  of  Burnside's  corps,  —  which  had  already  brushed 
away  the  opposition  in  its  front,  and  was  now  advancing  to 
seize  the  ford  at  Shepherdstown  and  cut  off  Lee  from  the 
Potomac. 

A.  P.  Hill  rode  into  battle  at  the  head  of  his  division.  The 
few  brigades  which  had  been  opposed  to  Burn  side  had  offered 
a  stout  resistance,  but,  too  weak  to  resist  long,  had  fallen  back 
to  our  right.  Into  the  gap  we  were  ordered.  In  the  edge  of 
the  corn  a  rabbit  jumped  up  and  ran  along  in  front  of  the  line ; 
a  few  shots  were  fired  at  it  by  some  excited  men  on  our  left. 


874  WHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

These  shots  seemed  the  signal  for  the  Federals  to  show  them- 
selves; they  were  in  the  corn,  advancing  upon  us  while  we 
were  moving  upon  them.  There  were  three  lines  of  them. 
Our  charge  broke  their  first  line ;  it  fell  back  on  the  second 
and  both  ran;  the  third  line  stood.  We  advanced  through  the 
corn,  firing  and  shouting.  The  third  line  fired,  then  broke; 
now  we  stood  where  it  had  stood,  on  the  top  of  the  hill.  A 
descending  slope  was  before  us,  then  a  hollow  —  also  in  thick 
corn — and  an  open  ascent  beyond.  Behind  the  brow  of  this 
next  hill  a  Federal  battery  made  its  presence  felt  by  its  fire 
only,  as  the  guns  and  men  were  almost  entirely  covered.  This 
battery  was  perhaps  four  hundred  yards  from  us,  and  almost 
directly  in  front  of  the  left  wing  of  the  First.  The  corn  on 
our  slope  and  in  the  hollow  was  full  of  Federals  running  in 
disorder.  We  loaded  and  fired,  and  loaded  and  fired.  Soon 
the  naked  slope  opposite  was  dotted  with  fleeing  men.  We 
loaded  and  fired,  and  loaded  and  fired. 

In  a  thick  row  of  corn  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill  I  saw  a  bayo- 
net glitter.  The  bayonet  was  erect,  at  the  height  of  the  large 
blades  of  corn.  The  owner  of  the  baj'-onet  had  squatted  in  the 
corn;  he  was  afraid  to  run  out  upon  the  naked  hillside  behind 
him,  and  he  had  not  thought  too  well.  He  had  kept  his  gun 
in  his  hand,  with  the  butt  on  the  ground,  and  the  sun's  rays 
betrayed  him.  Nothing  could  be  seen  but  the  bayonet.  I 
fired  at  the  ground  below  the  bayonet.     The  bayonet  fell. 

An  ofiicer  was  riding  back  and  forth  on  the  open  hillside, 
a  gallant  officer  rallying  his  men.  None  would  stop ;  it  was 
death  to  stop.  He  threatened,  and  almost  struck  the  men,  but 
they  would  run  on  as  soon  as  his  back  was  turned.  They  were 
right  to  run  at  this  moment,  and  he  was  wrong  in  trying  to 
form  on  the  naked  slope.  Beyond  the  hilltop  was  the  place 
to  rally,  and  the  men  knew  it,  and  the  gallant  officer  did  not. 
He  rode  from  group  to  group  of  fleeing  men  as  they  streamed 
up  the  hill.  He  was  a  most  conspicuous  target.  Many  shots 
were  fired  at  him,  but  he  continued  to  ride  and  to  storm  at  the 


BEYOND  THE  POTOMAC  375 

men  and  to  wave  his  sword.  Suddenly  his  head  went  down, 
his  body  doubled  up,  and  he  lay  stretched  on  the  ground. 
The  riderless  horse  galloped  off  a  few  yards,  then  returned  to 
his  master,  bent  his  head  to  the  prostrate  man,  and  fell  almost 
upon  him. 

The  Federal  infantry  could  now  be  seen  nowhere  in  our 
front.  On  our  left  they  began  to  develop  and  to  advance,  and 
on  the  right  the  sound  of  heavy  fighting  was  yet  heard.  The 
enemy  continued  to  develop  from  our  left  until  they  were  un- 
covered in  our  front.  They  advanced,  right  and  left ;  just 
upon  our  own  position  the  pressure  was  not  yet  great,  but  we 
felt  that  the  Twelfth  regiment,  which  joined  us  on  our  left, 
must  soon  yield  to  greatly  superior  numbers,  and  would  carry 
our  flank  with  it  when  it  went.  The  fight  now  raged  hotter 
than  before.  I  saw  Captain  Parker,  of  Company  K,  near  to  us. 
His  face  was  a  mass  of  blood — his  jaw  broken.  The  regiment 
was  so  small  that,  although  Company  PI  was  on  its  left,  I  saw 
Sam  Wigg,  a  corporal  of  the  colour-guard,  fall  —  death  in  his 
face.  Then  the  Twelfth  South  Carolina  charged,  and  for  a 
while  the  pressure  upon  us  was  relieved;  but  the  Twelfth 
charged  too  far,  and,  while  driving  the  enemy  in  its  front,  was 
soon  overlapped,  and  flanked.  Upon  its  exposed  flank  the 
bullets  fell  and  it  crumbled ;  in  retiring,  it  caught  the  left  of 
the  First,  and  Company  H  fell  back.  Now  the  enemy  moved 
on  the  First  from  the  front  and  the  regiment  retired  hastily 
through  the  corn,  and  formed  easily  again  at  the  stone  fence 
from  which  it  had  advanced  at  the  beginning  of  the  contest. 
The  battle  was  over.  The  enemy  came  no  farther,  and  the 
fords  of  the  Potomac  remained  to  Lee. 

All  the  night  of  the  17th  and  the  day  of  the  18th  we  lay  in 
position.  A  few  shells  flev/  over  us  at  irregular  intervals,  and 
we  were  in  hourly  expectation  of  a  renewal  of  the  battle,  but 
the  Federals  did  not  advance.  By  daylight  on  the  morning  of 
the  19th  we  were  once  more  in  Virginia. 

While  A.  P.  Hill's  division  had  suffered  but  small  loss  in 


376  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

the  battle  of  Sharpsburg,  and  while  our  part  in  the  battle  had 
been  fortunate,  it  was  clear  that  Lee's  army  as  a  whole  had 
barely  escaped  a  great  disaster.  I  have  always  thought  that 
McClellan  had  it  in  his  power  on  the  18th  of  September  to 
bring  the  war  to  an  end.  Lee  had  fought  the  battle  with  a 
force  not  exceeding  forty  thousand  men,  and  had  lost  nearly  a 
third.  McClellan,  on  the  18th,  was  fully  three  times  as  strong 
as  Lee ;  but  he  waited  a  full  day,  and  gave  the  Confederates 
opportunity  to  cross,  almost  leisurely,  the  difficult  river  in 
their  rear. 

******* 

A.  P.  Hill's  division  went  into  bivouac  some  five  miles 
south  of  Shepherdstown. 

On  the  morning  of  the  20th  the  warning  rumble  of  the 
long  roll  called  us  once  again  to  action.  We  were  marched 
rapidly  back  to  the  Potomac.  Firing  could  be  heard  in 
front,  and  wounded  men  could  be  seen  here  and  there.  Men 
said  that  in  the  night  McClellan  had  thrown  a  force  to  the 
south  side  of  the  river,  and  had  surprised  and  taken  some  of 
our  artillery.  As  we  drew  near  the  river,  we  could  see  the 
smoke  of  cannon  in  action  spouting  from  the  farther  side, 
and  from  our  side  came  the  crackling  of  musketry  fire. 

The  division  was  formed  for  battle ;  we  were  to  advance 
in  two  lines  of  three  brigades  each,  General  Gregg  in  com- 
mand of  the  first  line.  Orr's  Rifle  regiment  was  thrown  for- 
ward as  skirmishers  and  advanced  to  the  river  bank.  The 
division  moved  behind  the  skirmishers.  The  ground  was 
open.  We  marched  down  a  slope  covered  with  corn  in  part, 
and  reached  a  bare  and  undulating  field  that  stretched  to 
the  trees  bordering  the  river.  As  soon  as  the  division  had 
passed  the  corn,  the  Federal  batteries  north  of  the  Potomac 
began  to  work  upon  our  ranks.  The  first  shots  flew  a  little 
above  us.  We  were  marching  at  quick  time,  keeping  well 
the  alignment.  The  next  shots  struck  the  ground  in  front 
of  ITS  and  exploded  —  with  what  effect  I  could  not  see.     And 


•  BEYOND  THE   POTOMAC  377 

now  the  enemy  had  our  range  and  made  use  of  the  time. 
Before  us,  about  three  hundred  yards,  was  a  depression  of 
the  ground,  with  a  low  ascending  hill  beyond.  Shells  burst 
over  us,  beyond  us,  in  front  of  us,  amongst  us,  as  we  marched 
on  at  quick  time.  We  reached  the  hollow  and  were  ordered 
to  lie  down.  The  sun  was  oppressive.  The  troops  had  scant 
room  in  the  hollow;  they  hugged  the  earth  thick.  Shells 
would  burst  at  the  crown  of  the  low  hill  ten  steps  in  front 
and  throw  iron  everywhere.  The  aim  of  the  Federal  gunners 
was  horribly  true. 

We  were  cramped  with  lying  long  in  one  position;  no 
water.  Behind  us  came  a  brigade  down  the  slope  —  flags 
flying,  shells  bursting  in  the  ranks.  Down  the  hill  that  we 
had  come  they  now  were  coming  in  their  turn,  losing  men 
at  every  step.  The  shells  flew  far  above  us  to  strike  this 
new  and  exposed  line.  Behind  us  came  the  brigade;  right 
against  Company  H  came  the  centre  of  a  regiment.  The 
red  flag  was  marching  straight.  The  regiment  reached  our 
hollow ;  there  was  no  room  ;  it  flanked  to  the  left  by  fours ; 
a  shell  struck  the  colour-group;  the  flag  leaped  in  the  air 
and  fell  amongst  four  dead  men.  A  little  pause,  and  the 
flag  was  again  alive,  and  the  regiment  had  passed  to  the 
left,  seeking  room. 

For  hours  we  lay  under  the  hot  sun  and  the  hotter  fire. 
The  fight  had  long  since  ended,  but  we  were  held  fast  by 
the  Federal  batteries.  To  rise  and  march  out  would  be  to 
lose  many  men  uselessly. 

A  shell  burst  at  the  top  of  the  rise.  Another  came,  and 
I  felt  my  hat  fly  off;  it  was  torn  on  the  edge  of  the  brim. 
Again,  and  a  great  pain  seized  my  shoulder  and  a  more 
dreadful  one  my  hip.  I  was  hit,  but  how  badly  I  did  not 
know.  The  pain  in  my  hip  was  such  agony  that  I  feared 
to  look.  Since  our  great  loss  at  Manassas,  I  was  the  tallest 
man  in  Company  H,  and  the  Captain  was  lying  very  near 
to  me,     I  said  to  him  that  I  was  done  for.     "  What !  "  said 


378  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

he,  "again?  You  must  break  that  habit,  Jones."  I  wanted 
to  be  taken  out,  but  could  not  ask  it.  What  with  the  danger 
and  the  heat  and  the  thirst  and  pain,  I  was  unnerved  and 
afraid  to  look.  Perhaps  I  lost  consciousness  for  a  time ;  the 
pain  had  decreased.  At  last  I  looked,  and  I  saw  —  nothing  ! 
I  examined,  and  found  a  great  contusion,  and  that  was  all. 
I  was  happy  —  the  only  happy  man  in  the  regiment,  for 
the  cannon  on  the  hills  beyond  the  river  had  not  lessened 
their  fire,  and  the  sun  was  hot,  and  the  men  were  suffering. 

As  the  darkness  gathered,  the  regiment  filed  out  and 
marched  back  to  bivouac.  I  limped  along  and  kept  up.  We 
got  water  and  food  and,  at  length,  rest;  and  sleep  banished 
the  fearful  memory  of  a  fearful  day. 

In  the  fight  at  Shepherdstown  the  Confederate  infantry 
drove  the  Federals  to  the  river  bank,  where  many  surren- 
dered. Some  succeeded  in  getting  across  to  the  northern 
bank,  but  most  of  those  who  attempted  the  crossing  were 
lost.  It  was  said  in  Lee's  army  —  but  with  what  truth  I 
do  not  know  —  that  blue  corpses  floated  past  Washington. 

After  this  fight  Lee  was  not  molested.  Jackson  camped 
his  corps  near  Martinsburg,  and  a  week  later  moved  to  Bun- 
ker Hill,  where  water  was  plentiful. 

Erom  the  25th  of  June  to  the  20th  of  September  —  eighty- 
seven  days  —  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  had  made 
chree  great  campaigns :  first,  that  of  the  week  in  front  of 
Richmond ;  second,  that  of  Manassas ;  third,  that  of  Har- 
per's Ferry  and  Sharpsburg.  The  Confederates  had  been 
clearly  victorious  in  the  first  two,  and  had  succeeded  in  the 
last  in  withdrawing  with  the  fruits  of  Harper's  Ferry,  and 
Avith  the  honours  of  a  drawn  battle  against  McClellan's  mighty 
army. 


XXIX 


FOREBODINGS 


"  King  John.    Alack,  thou  dost  usurp  authority. 
King  Philip.    Excuse  ;  it  is  to  put  usurping  down." 

—  Shakespeare, 

All  of  tlie  month  of  October,  1862,  Jackson's  corps  remained 
near  Bunker  Hill,  in  the  valley  of  the  Shenandoah.  It  was 
here  that  we  learned  of  Lincoln's  proclamation  freeing  the 
slaves.  A  few  copies  of  it  were  seen  in  our  camp  —  intro- 
duced, doubtless,  by  some  device  of  the  enemy.  Most  of  the 
officers  and  men  of  Company  H  were  not  greatly  impressed 
by  this  action  on  the  part  of  the  ISTorthern  President.  I  have 
reason  to  know,  however,  that  Captain  Haskell  regarded  the 
proclamation  a  serious  matter.  One  day  I  had  heard  two  men 
of  our  company — Davis  and  Stokes  —  talking. 

"  I  wonder  why  Jones  never  gets  any  letters,"  said  Stokes. 

"  Have  you  noticed  that  ?  "  asked  Davis. 

"  Yes  ;  haven't  you  ?  " 

''  Yes  ;  but  I  thought  it  was  none  of  my  business." 

''  Have  you  ever  seen  him  write  any  letters  ?  " 

"  ISTo  ;  I  haven't,  except  for  somebody  else  ;  he  writes  letters 
for  Limus  and  Peagler." 

Limus  was  a  negro,  Lieutenant  Barnwell's  servant.  Peag- 
ler was  one  of  Company  H,  and  a  valuable  member  of  the 
infirmary  corps,  but  he  could  not  write. 

The  talk  of  the  men  had  made  me  gloomy.  I  sought  Cap- 
tain Haskell,  and  unburdened  to  him.  The  Captain's  manner 
toward  me  had  undergone  a  modification  that  Avas  very  wel- 
come to  me  ;  his  previous  reserve,  indicated  by  formal  polite- 

379 


380  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

ness,  had  given  place  to  a  friendly  interest,  yet  he  was 
always  courteous. 

"  I  would  do  anything  to  relieve  you,"  said  he,  "but  of  course 
you  do  not  wish  me  to  speak  to  the  men  about  you." 

"  Certainly  not,  sir,"  said  I ;  "that  would  only  make  matters 
worse." 

"  Have  you  ever  yet  heard  from  the  hotel  at  Aiken  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word,  sir." 

"  I  suppose  the  hotel  has  changed  hands  ;  or  perhaps  it  has 
ceased  to  exist." 

"  Possibly  so,  Captain.  Has  anything  been  learned  as  to  the 
Fourth  South  Carolina  ?  " 

"Only  that  it  is  yet  in  this  army — in  Jenkins's  brigade. 
I  think  nothing  further  has  resulted.  Aleck  will  ask  very 
prudently  if  such  a  man  as  Jones  Berwick,  or  Berwick 
Jones,  is  missing  from  that  regiment.  We  shall  know  in 
a  few  days." 

''  I  suppose  we  shall  know  before  we  march  again,"  said  I. 

"  Probably.  We  shall  hardly  move  before  the  Federals  do. 
McClelian  is  giving  us  another  display  of  caution,  sir." 

"  I  think  he  ought  to  have  advanced  on  the  18th  of  last 
month,"  said  I. 

"  True,"  said  Captain  Haskell ;  "  he  missed  his  chance." 

"  Why  does  he  not  advance  now  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  He  takes  time  to  get  ready,  I  judge.  There  is  one  thing 
to  be  said  for  McClelian  :  he  will  do  nothing  rashly  ;  and  he 
has  considerable  nerve,  as  is  shown  by  his  resistance  to  popu- 
lar clamour,  and  even  to  the  urgency  of  the  Washington  au- 
thorities. The  last  papers  that  we  have  got  hold  of,  show  that 
Lincoln  is  displeased  with  his  general's  inactivity.  By  the 
way,  the  war  now  assumes  a  new  aspect." 

"  In  what  respect,  Captain  ?  " 

"  Lincoln's  emancipation  order  will  make  it  impossible  for 
the  North  to  compromise.  He  is  a  stronger  man  than  I  thought 
him,  sir.     He  burns  his  bridges." 


FOREBODINGS  381 

"  But  will  not  the  proclamation  cause  the  South  to  put  forth 
greater  effort  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  he.  "  It  will  cause  the  slaveholders  to 
feel  more  strongly;  but  it  will  cause  also  many  non-slavehold- 
ing  men,  such  as  are  in  our  mountain  districts  and  elsewhere, 
to  believe,  after  a  while,  that  the  South  is  at  war  principally  to 
maintain  slavery,  and  in  slavery  they  feel  no  interest  at  stake. 
In  such  conditions  the  South  can  do  no  more  than  she  is  now 
doing.  She  may  continue  to  hold  her  present  strength  for  a 
year  or  two  more,  but  to  increase  it  greatly  seems  to  me  be- 
yond our  ability.  The  proclamation  will  effectually  prevent 
any  European  power  from  recognizing  us.  We  must  look  for 
no  help,  and  must  prepare  to  endure  a  long  war." 

*'  Can  we  not  defend  ourselves  as  long  as  the  North  can 
continue  a  war  of  invasion  ?  " 

"  A  good  question,  sir.  Of  course  aggression  is  more  costly 
than  defence.  But  one  trouble  with  us  is  that  we  rarely  fight 
a  defensive  battle.  Lee's  strategy  is  defensive,  but  his  tactics 
are  just  the  reverse.  The  way  to  win  this  war,  allow  me  to 
say,  is  to  fight  behind  trees  and  rocks  and  hedges  and  earth- 
works :  never  to  risk  a  man  in  the  open  except  where  abso- 
lutely necessary,  and  when  absolute  victory  is  sure.  To  hus- 
band her  resources  in  men  and  means  is  the  South's  first  duty, 
sir.  I  hope  General  Lee  will  never  fight  another  offensive 
battle." 

"  But  are  not  the  armies  of  the  enemy  strong  enough  to 
outflank  any  line  of  intrenchments  that  we  might  make  ?  " 

''  True  ;  but  in  doing  so  they  would  present  opportunities 
which  skilful  generalship  would  know  how  to  seize.  If  no 
such  opportunities  came,  I  would  have  the  army  to  fall  back 
and  dig  again." 

"  Then  it  would  be  but  a  matter  of  time  before  we  should 
come  to  the  last  ditch,"  said  I. 

"Pardon  me;  the  farther  they  advanced,  the  more  men 
would  th-ey  need.     Of   course  there  would  come  a   limit,  at 


382  WHO  GOES  THERE? 

least  a  theoretical  limit.  It  might  be  said  that  we  could  not 
fall  back  and  leave  our  territory,  which  supplies  our  armies,  in 
the  hands  of  the  enemy.  But  to  counteract  this  theory  we 
have  others.  Disease  would  tell  on  the  enemy  more  than  on 
ourselves.  Our  interior  lines  would  be  shortened,  and  we 
could  reenforce  easily.  The  enemy,  in  living  on  our  country, 
would  be  exposed  to  our  enterprises.  His  lines  of  communi- 
cation would  always  be  in  danger.  And  he  wovild  attack. 
The  public  opinion  of  the  North  would  compel  attack,  and  we 
should  defeat  attacks  and  lose  but  few  men." 

Captain  Haskell  had  no  hope  that  there  Avould  be  any  such 
change  in  the  conduct  of  the  Avar.  He  seemed  depressed  by 
Mr.  Lincoln's  Emancipation  Proclamation,  which,  he  saw, 
would  effectually  put  an  end  to  hope  of  aid  or  intervention 
from  Europe.  His  hope  in  the  success  of  the  South  was  high, 
however.  The  North  might  be  strong,  but  the  South  had  the 
righteous  cause.  He  was  saddened  by  the  thought  that  the 
war  would  be  a  long  one,  and  that  many  men  must  perish. 

I  had  read  much  from  books  borrowed  from  other  men  in 
my  spare  time,  from  newspapers,  and  from  magazines  ;  and 
my  questions  had  led  Captain  Haskell  to  talk  for  half  an  hour, 
perhaps  more  freely  than  he  thought. 

He  told  me  to  say  nothing  to  the  men  concerning  the  pros- 
pect for  a  long  war.  He  seemed  serious  rather  than  gloomy. 
For  my  part,  it  mattered  little  that  the  war  should  be  long. 
I  had  almost  ceased  to  expect  any  discovery  of  my  former 
home  and  friends,  and  the  army  seemed  a  refuge.  What 
would  become  of  me  if  the  war  should  end  suddenly  ?  I  did 
not  feel  prepared  for  any  work ;  I  knew  no  business  or  trade. 
Even  if  I  had  one,  it  would  be  tame  after  Lee's  campaigns. 


XXX 

TWO    SHORT   CAMPAIGNS 

"  What  boots  the  oft-repeated  tale  of  strife, 
The  feast  of  vultures,  and  the  waste  of  life  ? 
The  varying  fortune  of  each  separate  field, 
The  fierce  that  vanquish,  and  the  faint  that  yield  ?  " 

—  Btron. 

Longstreet's  corps  liad  marclied  out  by  the  Valley,  and  now 
occupied  a  line  east  of  the  Blue  Ridge ;  Jackson  remained  yet 
at  Bunker  Hill.  We  heard  that  Burnside  had  superseded 
McClellan ;  speculation  was  rife  as  to  the  character  of  the  new 
commander.  It  was  easy  to  believe  that  the  Federal  army 
would  soon  give  us  work  to  do ;  its  change  of  leaders  clearly 
showed  aggressive  purpose,  McClellan  being  distinguished  more 
for  caution  than  for  disposition  to  attack. 

On  November  22d  we  moved  southward,  up  the  Shen- 
andoah Valley.  The  march  lasted  many  days.  We  passed 
through  Winchester,  Strasburg,  Woodstock,  and  turned  east- 
ward through  Massanutten  Gap,  and  marched  to  Madison 
Court-House.  From  Madison  we  marched  to  Orange,  and 
finally  to  Fredericksburg,  where  the  army  was  again  united  by 
our  arrival  on  December  3d.  The  march  had  been  painful. 
For  part  of  the  time  I  had  been  barefoot.  Many  of  the  men 
were  yet  without  shoes. 

The  weather  was  now  cold.  Snow  fell.  I  was  thinly  clad. 
On  the  morning  of  December  4th,  after  a  first  night  in  biv- 
ouac in  the  lines,  I  awoke  with  a  great  pain  in  my  chest  and 
a  "  gone  "  feeling  generally.  The  surgeon  told  me  that  I  had 
typhoid  pneumonia,  and  ordered  me  to  the  camp   hospital, 

883 


384  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

which  consisted  of  two  or  three  Sibley  tents  in  the  woods.     I 
was  laid  on  a  bed  of  straw  and  covered  with  blankets. 

I  lay  in  the  camp  hospital  until  the  morning  of  the  14th. 
How  far  off  the  regiment  was  I  do  not  know ;  however,  one  or 
two  men  of  Company  H  came  to  see  me  every  day  and  at- 
tended to  my  wants.  On  the  11th  two  of  them  came  and  told 
me  good-by;  they  were  ordered  to  march;  the  enemy  was 
crossing  the  river  and  was  expected  to  attack.  These  men 
told  me  afterward  that  when  they  said  good-by  they  felt 
they  were  saying  the  long  farewell ;  I  was  not  expected  to 
recover. 

On  the  13th,  flat  on  my  back,  I  heard  the  battle  of  Fred- 
ericksburg roaring  at  the  front,  some  two  or  three  miles  away. 
I  was  too  ill  to  feel  great  interest.  On  the  14th,  early  in  the 
morning,  I  was  lifted  into  an  open  wagon  and  covered  with 
a  single  blanket.  In  this  condition  I  was  jolted  to  a  place 
called  Hamilton's  Crossing.  There  I  was  lifted  out  of  the 
wagon  and  laid  upon  the  ground.  There  were  others  near 
me,  all  lying  on  the  ground.  In  many  places  the  ground 
was  white  with  snow ;  the  wind  cut  like  a  blade  of  ice  ;  I  was 
freezing.  At  about  two  o'clock  some  men  put  me  into  a  car 
—  a  common  box  freight-car,  which  had  no  heat  and  the  doors 
of  which  were  kept  open.  After  a  while  the  car  started.  At 
twelve  o'clock  that  night  the  train  reached  Richmond.  Some 
men  put  me  into  an  ambulance.  I  was  taken  to  Camp  Winder 
Hospital,  several  miles  out,  which  place  was  reached  about 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  loth.  That  I  survived  that 
day  —  the  14th  —  has  always  been  a  wonder. 

I  was  pat  to  bed.  There  were  many  beds  in  the  ward.  In 
the  middle  of  the  ward,  which  was  about  sixty  feet  long  by 
thirty  wide,  was  a  big  stove,  red-hot,  and  around  the  stove 
was  a  circle  of  people  —  women-nurses  and  stewards,  and  per- 
haps some  convalescing  patients  —  singing  religious  songs. 
There  was  a  great  open  space  between  the  red-hot  stove  and 
the  people  around  it.     I  wanted  to  lie  in  that  open  space. 


TWO   SHORT   CAMPAIGNS  385 

I  succeeded  in  getting  out  of  bed ;  then  I  crawled  on  the 
floor  until  I  was  within  a  few  feet  of  the  stove.  The  singing 
stopped.  "You'll  burn  to  death/'  said  a  woman.  I  closed 
m}^  eyes  and  soon  fell  asleep. 

For  three  or  four  weeks  I  lay  in  bed  in  Camp  Winder. 
Kot  an  incident  occurred.  I  received  no  letters.  I  had 
hoped  that  some  man  in  the  company  would  write  to  me. 
I  heard  of  nothing  but  general  affairs.  The  army  had  gained 
a  victory  over  Burnside.  I  had  known  that  fact  on  the 
night  of  the  14th.  I  knew,  also,  that  General  Gregg  had 
been  killed.  The  papers  that  I  saw  gave  me  some  of  the 
details  of  the  battle,  but  told  me  nothing  of  the  position  of 
the  army,  except  that  it  was  yet  near  Fredericksburg.  I 
did  not  know  where  Company  H  was,  and  I  learned  after- 
ward that  nobody  in  Company  H  knew  what  had  become 
of  me. 

The  monotony  of  hospital  life  became  intolerable.  My 
recovery  was  slow  and  my  impatience  great.  When  I  felt 
my  strength  begin  to  return,  I  wrote  to  Captain  Haskell.  ISTo 
answer  came.  Before  the  end  of  February  I  had  demanded 
my  papers  and  had  started  for  the  army  yet  near  Freder- 
icksburg. Transportation  by  rail  was  given  me  to  a  station 
called  Guiney's,  from  which  place  I  had  to  walk  some  nine 
or  ten  miles.  I  found  Company  H  below  Fredericksburg 
and  back  from  the  river.  Captain  Haskell  was  not  with  tlie 
company.  He  had  been  ordered  on  some  special  duty  to 
South  Carolina,  and  returned  to  us  a  week  later  than  my 
arrival.  Many  of  the  men  —  though  all  of  twenty-six  men 
could  hardly  be  said  to  be  many  —  had  thought  that  I  was 
dead,  as  nothing  had  been  heard  of  me  since  the  battle  of 
Fredericksburg. 

When    Captain   Haskell    returned,    he   showed    wonderful 
cheerfulness   for   so  serious  a  man.     He  was  greatly  encour- 
aged because  General   Lee   had   fought  at  Fredericksburg  a 
purely  defensive  battle  —  behind  breastworks  —  and  had  lost 
2c 


386  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

but  few  men.  The  worst  loss  in  the  whole  army  had  been 
caused  by  a  mistake  of  our  own  officers,  who  refused  to 
allow  their  men  to  fire  upon  a  line  of  Yankees  until  almost 
too  late,  believing  them  to  be  Confederates.  It  was  through 
this  error  that  General  Gregg,  for  whom  the  camp  of  the 
army  was  named,  had  lost  his  life. 

Company  H  was  in  small  huts  made  of  poles  and  roofed 
yariously  —  some  with  cloth  or  canvas,  others  with  slabs  or 
boards  rudely  riven  from  the  forest  trees.  We  had  camp 
guard  to  mount  and  picket  duty  occasionally. 

The  remainder  of  the  winter  passed  without  events  of 
great  importance.  Adjutant  Haskell  had  learned  that  no 
man  missing  from  the  Fourth  South  Carolina,  which  had 
sulfered  such  losses  that  it  had  been  reorganized  as  a  bat- 
talion, fitted  with  my  description  or  with  either  of  my 
names.  I  spent  much  time  in  reading  the  books  which 
passed  from  man  to  man  in  the  company. 

******* 

At  this  period  of  my  service  I  was  in  good  health  and 
somewhat  more  cheerful  than  I  had  been  previously.  The 
woods  had  begun  to  show  signs  of  Spring.  The  snow  had 
disappeared,  and  early  in  April  the  weather  became  mild. 
To  say  that  I  was  content  would  be  to  say  what  is  untrue, 
but  I  felt  that  my  condition  had  much  of  solace.  I  knew 
that  I  had  a  friend  in  Captain  Haskell  —  a  man  whom  I 
admired  without  reservation,  and  whose  favours  were  extended 
to  me  freely  —  I  mean  to  say  personal,  not  official,  favours. 
The  more  I  learned  of  this  high-minded  man,  the  more  did 
the  whole  world  seem  to  me  brighter  and  less  deserving  of 
disregard.  He  was  a  patriot.  An  heir  to  an  estate  of  many 
slaves,  he  was  at  war  for  a  principle  of  liberty ;  he  "was 
ready  at  any  time  to  sacrifice  personal  interest  to  the  fur- 
therance of  the  common  cause  of  the  South.  In  battle  he 
was  strong,  calm,  unutterably  dignified.  Battle,  it  seemed  to 
me,  was  considered  by  him  as  a  high,  religious  service,  which. 


TWO   SHORT   CAMPAIGNS  387 

he  performed  ceremonially.  Nothing  could  equal  the  vigor- 
ous gravity  of  his  demeanour  when  leading  his  men  in  fight. 
His  words  were  few  at  such  times;  he  was  the  only  officer 
I  ever  knew  void  absolutely  of  rant  in  action.  Others  would 
shout  and  scream  and  shriek  their  orders  redundant  and 
unwholesome;  Haskell's  eye  spoke  better  battle  English  than 
all  their  distended  throats.  He  was  merciful  and  he  was 
wise. 

On  the  28th  of  April,  1863,  we  were  ordered  to  have  three 
days'  cooked  rations  in  our  haversacks,  and  to  be  prepared  to 
move  at  a  moment's  notice. 

The  next  day  at  ten  o'clock  the  men  left  their  huts  and  fell 
into  ranks.  We  marched  to  Hamilton's  Crossing  —  some  six 
miles  —  and  formed  in  line  of  battle,  and  began  to  throw  up 
breastworks.  The  enemy  was  in  our  front,  on  our  side  of  the 
Rappahannock,  and  we  learned  that  he  had  crossed  in  strong 
force  up  the  river  also.  We  faced  the  Yankees  here  for  two 
days,  but  did  not  fire  a  shot. 

Before  dawn  on  Friday,  May  1st,  we  were  in  motion  west- 
ward— up  the  river.  At  noon  we  could  hear  skirmishing  and 
cannon  in  our  front.  The  sounds  at  first  went  from  us,  but  at 
two  o'clock  they  increased  in  volume.  We  were  pressed  for- 
ward; again  the  noise  of  the  fight  began  to  die  away.  The 
enemy  were  retiring  before  our  advanced  troops.  Night  came 
on,  and  we  lay  on  our  arms,  expecting  the  day  to  bring 
battle. 

The  morning  brought  Jackson's  famous  flank  march  to  the 
left  of  Hooker's  army.  At  first  we  moved  southward  under 
a  sharp  fire  of  artillery  from  which  we  seemed  to  retreat ;  the 
men  thought  the  movement  was  retreat,  and  it  is  no  wonder 
that  Hooker  thought  so;  but  suddenly  our  march  broke  off 
toward  the  west,  and  the  men  could  not  conceal  their  joy  over 
what  they  were  now  beginning  to  understand.  Frequently,  on 
that   day,  Jackson  was  seen  riding  past  the  marching  lines 


388  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

to  the  head  of  his  column,  or  halted  with  his  staff  to  see  his 
troops  hastening  on. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  our  column  was  halted  on  the  turn- 
pike. Our  backs  were  toward  the  sunset.  Two  other  divi- 
sions were  in  line  of  battle  in  our  front.  We  moved  along  the 
road  at  supporting  distance. 

Shots  rang  out  in  the  woods  in  front,  and  in  another  instant 
the  roar  of  the  charging  yell  mingled  with  the  crash  of  con- 
tinuous musketry.  There  was  no  pause  in  the  advance.  Both 
lines  ahead  of  us  had  swept  on.  We  followed,  still  in  column 
of  fours  upon  the  road,  which  was  almost  blocked  by  a  battery 
of  artillery. 

Soon  we  found  the  road  full  of  the  signs  of  battle.  On  our 
right  was  open  ground — to  the  south;  facing  this  open  space 
was  a  breastwork  from  which  the  enemy  had  just  been  driven, 
leaving  wounded  and  dead,  their  muskets,  accoutrements,  cook- 
ing utensils  yet  upon  the  fires,  blankets,  knapsacks  —  every- 
thing. 

We  continued  to  advance.  Our  first  and  second  lines,  hav- 
ing become  intermingled,  needed  time  to  restore  their  ranks. 
Hill's  division  now  formed  the  first  line  of  battle. 

It  was  now  dark,  and  no  enemy  could  be  seen.  Their  guns 
in  the  distance  told  us,  however,  that  they  had  made  a  stand. 
We  again  went  forward.  Near  the  enemy's  second  line  of 
intrenchments  we  were  halted  in  the  thick  woods. 

The  battle  seemed  to  have  ended  for  the  night.  In  our 
front  rose  a  moon,  the  like  of  which  was  never  seen.  Almost 
completely  full  and  in  a  cloudless  sky,  she  shone  calmly  down 
on  the  men  of  two  armies  yet  lingering  in  the  last  struggles  of 
life  and  death.  Here  and  there  a  gun  broke  the  silence,  as  if 
to  warn  us  that  all  was  not  peace ;  now  and  then  a  film  of 
cannon  smoke  drifted  across  the  moon,  which  seemed  to  be- 
come piteous  then.     There  was  silence  in  the  ranks. 

The  line  was  lying  down,  ready,  however,  and  alert.  At 
about  nine  o'clock  a  sharp  rattle  of  rifles  was  heard  at  our  left 


TWO   SHORT   CAMPAIGNS  389 

—  about  where  Lane's  brigade  was  posted,  as  we  thought  — 
and  soon  a  mournful  group  of  men  passed  by  us,  bearing  the 
outstretched  form  of  one  whom  we  knew  to  be  some  high  offi- 
cer. Jackson  had  been  shot  dangerously  by  one  of  Lane's 
regiments — the  Eighteenth  North  Carolina. 

General  A.  P.  Hill  now  commanded  the  corps.  Again  all 
was  silent,  and  the  line  lay  down,  as  it  hoped,  for  the  night. 
All  at  once  there  came  the  noise  of  a  gun,  and  another,  and  of 
a  whole  battery,  and  many  batteries,  and  fields  and  woods 
were  alive  with  shells  and  canister.  More  than  forty  pieces 
of  cannon  had  been  massed  in  our  front.  We  lay  and  endured 
the  fire.  General  Hill  was  wounded,  and  at  midnight  General 
Stuart  of  the  cavalry  took  command  of  the  corps.  At  last 
the  cannon  hushed.  The  terrible  night  passed  away  without 
sleep. 

At  eight  o'clock  on  Sunday  morning  the  Light  Division, 
under  command  of  General  Pender,  assaulted  the  intreuch- 
ments  of  the  enemy.  Our  brigade  succeeded  in  getting  into 
the  works  ;  but  on  our  right  the  enemy's  line  still  held,  and  as 
it  curved  far  to  the  west  it  had  us  in  flank  and  rear.  A  new 
attack  at  this  moment  by  the  troops  on  our  right  would  have 
carried  the  line;  the  attack  was  not  made.  We  were  com- 
pelled to  abandon  the  breastworks  and  run  for  the  woods, 
where  we  formed  again  at  once. 

And  now  another  brigade  charged,  and  was  driven  back  by 
an  enfilade  fire. 

At  ten  o'clock  a  third  and  final  charge  was  made  along  the 
whole  line ;  the  intrenchments  were  ours,  and  Chancellorsville 
was  won. 

Company  H  had  lost  many  men  ;  Pinckney  Seabrook,  a  most 
gallant  officer,  had  fallen  dead,  shot  by  some  excited  man  far 
in  our  rear. 

We  moved  no  farther  in  advance.  The  scattered  lines  re- 
formed, and  were  ready  to  go  forward  and  push  the  Federals 
to  the  Rappahannock,  but  no  orders  came.     General  Lee  had 


390  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

just  received  intelligence  of  the  second  battle  of  Fredericks- 
burg. The  enemy,  under  Sedgwick,  had  taken  the  heights 
above  the  town,  and  were  now  advancing  against  our  right 
flank.  Our  division,  and  perhaps  others,  held  the  field  of 
Chancellorsville,  while  troops  were  hurried  east  to  face  Sedg- 
wick. Before  the  close  of  the  4th  the  Federals  near  Freder- 
icksburg had  been  forced  to  retire  to  the  north  bank  of  the 
Eappahannock.  By  the  morning  of  the  6th  all  of  Hooker's 
army  had  recrossed  the  river. 

Chancellorsville  is  considered  Lee's  greatest  victory,  because 
of  the  enormous  odds  he  fought.  Longstreet,  with  two  of  his 
divisions,  was  not  at  Chancellorsville,  but  was  at  Suffolk  oppos- 
ing the  Federals  under  Peck.  Hooker's  army  had  numbered 
a  hundred  and  thirty  thousand,  while  Lee  had  less  than  sixty 
thousand  men. 

We  marched  back  to  our  huts  below  Fredericksburg.  A 
few  days  later  we  learned  that  the  most  illustrious  man  in 
the  South  was  dead.  No  longer  should  we  follow  Stonewall 
Jackson. 

The  two  corps  of  the  army  were  formed  into  three,  —  Long- 
street's  the  first,  Ewell's  the  second,  and  A.  P.  Hill's  the  third. 
Our  General  Gregg  had  been  killed  at  Fredericksburg,  and 
we  were  now  McGowan's  brigade.  Our  General  Jackson  had 
fallen  at  Chancellorsville,  and  we  were  now  in  the  corps  of 
A.  P.  Hill,  whose  promotion  placed  four  brigades  of  our  divi- 
sion under  General  Peuder.  Letters  received  by  Company  H 
a  few  weeks  before  had  been  addressed  to  Gregg's  brigade, 
A.  P.  Hill's  division,  Jackson's  corps ;  letters  received  now 
were  addressed  to  McGowan's  brigade,  Pender's  division,  A. 
P.  Hill's  corps.     But  why  do  I  talk  of  letters  ? 

Shortly  after  our  return  to  the  old  camp,  by  order  of  Gen- 
eral Pender,  a  battalion  of  sharp-shooters  was  formed  in  each 
brigade  of  his  division.  Two  or  three  men  were  taken  from 
each  company  —  from  the  large   companies   three,    from   the 


TWO   SHORT  CAMPAIGNS  391 

small  ones  two.  Oar  brigade  had  five  regiments  of  ten  com- 
panies each,  so  that  McGowan's  battalion  of  sharp-shooters  was 
to  be  composed  of  about  a  hundred  and  twenty  men.  General 
McGowan  chose  Captain  Haskell  as  the  commander  of  the 
battalion.  When  I  heard  of  this  appointment,  I  went  to  the 
Captain  and  begged  to  go  with  him.  He  said,  "  I  had  already 
chosen  you,  Jones,"  and  I  felt  happy  and  proud.  When  the 
battalion  was  drawn  up  for  the  first  time,  orders  were  read 
showing  the  organization  of  the  command.  There  were  to  be 
three  companies,  each  under  a  lieutenant.  I  was  in  Com- 
pany A,  with  the  other  men  from  the  First.  Gus  Rhodes,  a 
sergeant  in  Company  H,  was  named  orderly-sergeant  of  Com- 
pany A  of  the  battalion,  and  Private  B.  Jones  was  named 
second  sergeant.  For  a  moment  I  wondered  who  this  B. 
Jones  was,  and  then  it  came  upon  me  that  no  one  could  be 
meant  except  myself. 

After  the  ranks  broke  I  went  to  the  Captain.  He  smiled  at 
my  approach.  "  You  deserved  it,  Jones  ;  at  least  I  think  so. 
I  don't  know  the  other  men,  and  I  do  know  you." 

I  stammered  some  reply,  thanking  him  for  his  goodness 
toward  me,  and  started  to  go  away. 

"Wait,"  said  he,  "I  want  to  talk  to  you.  Do  you  know  the 
men  of  the  company  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  only  a  few  of  them ;  but  the  few  I  know  know 
the  others  and  say  they  are  good  men." 

''No  doubt  they  have  been  well  proved  in  the  line,"  said 
he;  "but  you  know  that  Company  C  and  Company  H  have 
thus  far  had  to  do  almost  all  the  skirmishing  for  the  regiment, 
and  we  have  only  four  or  five  men  in  the  battalion  out  of  those 
companies.  It  is  one  thing  to  be  a  good  soldier  in  the  line 
and  another  thing  to  be  a  good  skirmisher." 

"  I  suppose  so.  Captain,"  said  I ;  "  but  it  seems  to  me  that 
anybody  would  prefer  being  in  the  battalion." 

"No,  not  anybody,"  said  the  Captain  ;  "  it  shows  some  inde- 
pendence of  mind  to  prefer  it.     A  man   willing   to  lean  on 


392  WHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

others  will  not  like  the  battalion.  Our  duties  will  be  some- 
what different  for  the  future.  The  men  get  their  rations  and 
their  pay  through  their  original  comjjanies,  but  are  no  longer 
attached  to  them  otherwise.  On  the  march  and  in  battle 
they  will  serve  as  a  distinct  command,  and  will  be  exposed 
to  many  dangers  that  the  line  of  battle  will  escape,  though  the 
danger,  on  the  whole,  will  be  lessened,  I  dare  say,  especially 
for  alert  men  who  know  how  to  seize  every  advantage.  But 
the  most  of  the  men  have  not  been  trained  for  such  service. 
As  a  body,  we  have  had  no  training  at  all.  We  must  begin 
at  once,  and  I  expect  you  to  hold  up  your  end  of  Company  A." 

"  I  will  do  my  best,  Captain,"  said  I. 

" Come  to  my  quarters  to-night,"  said  he ;  "I  want  you  to 
do  some  writing  for  me." 

That  night  a  programme  of  drill  exercises  for  the  battalion 
was  prepared,  and  day  after  day  thereafter  it  was  put  into 
practice.  We  drilled  and  drilled ;  company  drill  as  skir- 
mishers ;  battalion  drill  as  skirmishers  ;  estimating  distances  : 
target  firing,  and  all  of  it. 

Early  in  June  Hill's  corps  alone  was  holding  the  lines  at 
Fredericksburg.  Ewell  and  Longstreet  had  marched  away 
toward  the  Shenandoah  Valley,  and  onward  upon  the  road 
that  ends  at  Cemetery  Hill.  The  Federals  again  crossed  the 
Rappahannock,  but  in  small  bodies.  Their  army  was  on  the 
Falmouth  Hills  beyond  the  river. 

On  the  6th  the  battalion  was  ordered  to  the  front.  We 
took  our  places  —  five  steps  apart  —  in  a  road  running  down 
the  river.  On  either  side  of  the  road  was  a  dry  ditch  with  a 
bank  of  earth  thrown  up,  and  with  trees  growing  upon  the 
bank,  so  that  the  road  was  a  fine  shaded  avenue.  In  front, 
and  on  our  side  of  the  river,  was  a  Federal  skirmish-line  — 
five  hundred  yards  from  us. 

Firing  began.  The  Yankees  were  screened  from  view  by 
bushes  in  the  low  ground  between  us  and  the  river.  Much 
tall   grass,   weeds,    and   broom-sedge   covered  the  unwooded 


TWO   SHORT   CAMPAIGNS  393 

space  between  the  opposing  lines ;  rarely  could  a  man  be  seen. 
Our  men  stood  in  the  dry  ditch  and  fired  above  the  bank, 
which  formed  a  natural  breastwork.  At  my  place,  on  the 
left  of  Company  A,  a  large  tree  was  growing  upon  the  bank. 
I  was  standing  behind  this  tree ;  a  bullet  struck  it.  The  fir- 
ing was  very  slow  —  men  trying  to  pick  a  target.  When  the 
bullet  struck  the  tree,  I  saw  the  smoke  of  a  gun  rise  from 
behind  a  bush.  I  aimed  at  the  bush  and  fired.  Soon  a  bullet 
sizzed  by  me,  and  I  saw  the  smoke  at  the  same  bush ;  I  fired 
again.  Again  the  tree  was  struck,  and  again  I  fired.  The 
tree  was  a  good  protection,  —  possibly  not  so  good  as  the  bank 
of  earth,  though  it  gave  me  a  much  better  view,  —  and  I  sup- 
pose I  was  a  little  careless ;  at  any  rate,  while  loading  the 
next  time  I  felt  a  sharp  little  pain  on  my  arm.  I  jumped 
back  into  the  ditch.  My  sleeve  was  torn  between  my  arm  and 
body.  I  took  off  my  coat  —  there  was  hardly  more  than  a 
scratch ;  the  ball  had  grazed  the  inside  of  my  arm  about  an 
inch  below  the  armpit  and  had  drawn  some  blood. 

We  skirmished  all  day,  neither  side  advancing.  The 
battalion  had  no  losses.  At  night  the  Federals  withdrew  to 
their  side  of  the  river.  While  going  back  to  camp  our  men 
kept  up  a  perfect  babel  of  talk  concerning  their  first  day's 
experience  in  the  battalion  of  sharp-shooters.  They  were  to 
undergo  other  experiences  —  experiences  which  would  cause 
them  to  hold  their  tongues. 


XXXI 


GLOOM 


"  He  was  a  man,  take  him  all  in  all, 
I  shall  not  see  his  like  again."  —  Shakespeare. 

The  time  came  for  A.  P.  Hill  to  follow  on  after  Longstreet. 
We  broke  camp  on  the  loth,  and  marched  day  after  day 
through  Culpeper,  Chester  Gap,  Front  Royal,  and  Berryville. 
On  the  25th  of  June  we  forded  the  Potomac  for  the  last  time, 
crossing  below  Shepherdstown  at  the  ford  by  which  we  had 
advanced  nine  months  before  in  our  hurried  march  from 
Harper's  Ferry  to  Sharpsburg.  We  passed  once  more  through 
Sharpsburg,  and  advanced  to  a  village  called  Funkstown,  in 
the  edge  of  Pennsylvania,  where  our  division  rested  for  three 
days. 

On  the  29th  Sergeant  Rhodes  and  I  went  foraging.  At 
some  small  farmhouses  far  off  in  the  hills  we  found  provisions 
to  sell  at  cheap  prices.  Our  Confederate  money  was  received 
with  less  unwillingness  than  we  might  have  expected.  We 
got  onions,  cheese,  and  bread  —  rye-bread.  Rhodes  was  carry- 
ing a  tin  bucket ;  he  wanted  milk.  Coming  back  toward 
camp  at  sunset,  we  met  in  a  lane  two  fine  cows  —  a  boy  driv- 
ing them  home  from  pasture.  We  halted.  Rhodes  ordered 
the  boy  to  milk  the  cows ;  the  boy  replied  that  he  could  not 
milk.  "  Well,  I  can,"  said  Rhodes.  I  held  the  sergeant's 
gun,  and  he  soon  drew  his  bucket  full.  Meantime,  I  was 
talking  with  the  boy. 

"  When  did  you  see  your  brother  last  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  About  two  months  ago,"  said  he. 

894 


GLOOM  395 

"  Is  lie  the  only  brother  you  have  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  HoTv  does  he  like  the  army  ?  " 

"  He  liked  it  at  first ;  Father  tried  to  keep  him  from  going, 
but  he  couldn't." 

"  And  he  doesn't  like  it  now  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  that  he  don't.  He  hated  to  go  back,  but  he  had 
to." 

"  Say,  young  man,"  said  Rhodes ;  "  have  you  got  a  brother 
in  the  Yankee  army  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Then  I  don't  pay  you  a  cent  for  this  milk." 

I  thought  that  the  boy  was  greatly  surprised  to  know  that 
Rhodes  had  intended  to  pay. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  month  we  moved  again ;  the  morn- 
ing of  July  1st  found  us  marching  eastward  on  the  Cashtown 
road.  The  heat  was  great,  although  the  sun  was  not  high. 
The  march  was  rapid  and  unobstructed,  as  though  A.  P.  Hill 
was  soon  to  have  work  to  do.  Heth's  division  led  the  corps. 
We  descended  from  a  range  of  high  hills,  having  in  our  front 
an  extensive  region  dotted  over  with  farmhouses  and  with 
fertile  fields  interspersed  with  groves.  The  march  continued ; 
steadily  eastward  went  the  corps. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  spasmodic  patter  of  rifles  was  heard  in 
front.  We  were  halted.  Haskell's  battalion  filed  to  the  right, 
deployed,  and  the  column  marched  on,  with  the  sharp-shooters 
moving  as  skirmishers  parallel  with  the  brigade. 

The  firing  in  front  increased.  The  battalion  flanked  to  the 
right  and  went  forward  in  line  to  the  top  of  a  hill  overlooking 
a  large  low  plain  to  the  south.  We  halted  in  position,  occupy- 
ing a  most  formidable  defensive  line.  In  our  rear,  half  a  mile, 
the  division,  and  perhaps  other  divisions,  went  by  into  battle, 
and  left  us  on  the  hill,  protecting  their  flank  and  rear. 

Cavalry  were  visible  in  our  front.     They  moved  over  the 


396  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

plain  in  many  small  groups,  but  throughout  the  day  did  not 
venture  within  range  of  our  rifles.  A  great  engagement 
seemed  in  progress  at  our  rear  and  left.  We  could  see  the 
smoke  of  burning  houses  and  see  shells  burst  in  the  air,  and 
could  hear  the  shouts  of  our  men  as  they  advanced  from  one 
position  to  another,  driving  the  enemy. 

A  little  before  sunset  Captain  Haskell  came  to  me  and 
handed  me  a  folded  paper.  "  Find  General  Pender,"  he  said, 
"  and  give  him  this  note.  I  fear  the  battalion  has  been  for- 
gotten here,  and  I  am  asking  for  orders.  Be  back  as  quickly 
as  you  can." 

My  way  was  over  the  battlefield.  I  passed  between  houses 
yet  burning.  Dead  and  wounded  lay  intermingled,  Federals 
and  Confederates.  In  one  place  behind  a  stone  fence  there 
were  many  blue  corpses.  The  ambulances  and  infirmary  men 
were  busy.  In  a  road  I  saw  side  by  side  a  Confederate  and  a 
Federal.  The  Confederate  was  on  his  back ;  his  jacket  was 
open ;  his  shirt  showed  a  great  red  splotch  right  on  his  breast. 
Death  must  have  been  instantaneous. 

At  the  Seminary  I  found  at  last  our  line.  It  had  been  much 
farther  forward,  but  had  been  withdrawn  to  the  hill.  General 
Pender  was  yet  on  his  horse.  I  handed  him  the  note.  He 
read  it,  and  said,  without  looking  at  me,  "  Tell  the  Captain  to 
bring  his  men  in." 

I  ran  down  the  line  to  find  Company  H.  In  a  few  minutes 
I  saw  Lieutenant  Barnwell  and  the  men.  Larkin  of  Company 
H,  colour-bearer  of  the  regiment,  had  fallen ;  Corporal  Jones 
was  dead ;  many  men  were  wounded.  The  brigade  had  fought 
well;  it  had  charged  the  enemy  behind  a  stone  fence  and 
routed  them,  and  had  pursued  them  through  the  streets  of  the 
town  and  taken  many  prisoners.  Butler  and  Williams  had 
gone  into  a  house  foraging,  and  in  the  cellar  had  taken  a  whole 
company  commanded  by  a  lieutenant.  Other  tales  there 
were  to  tell.  Albert  Youmans  had  gone  entirely  through  the 
town,  followed  by  straggling  men,  and  had  reached  the  top  of 


GLOOM  397 

Cemetery  Hill,  and  had  seen  a  confused  mass  of  men  in  utter 
disorganization,  and  had  waved  his  hat  and  shouted  to  the  men 
behind  him  to  come  on;  but  Major  Alston  had  already  ordered 
the  pursuit  stopped.  The  flag  of  the  First  had  waved  in  the 
streets  of  the  town  before  that  of  any  other  regiment.  The 
commander  of  the  Federals,  General  Reynolds,  had  been  killed. 
Archer's  brigade  of  Heth's  division  had  in  the  early  hours 
of  the  battle  advanced  too  far,  and  many  of  the  brigade  had 
been  captured. 

All  this  and  more  I  heard  in  the  few  minutes  which  I 
dared  to  give.  I  hurried  back  to  the  battalion,  running  to 
make  up  lost  time.  It  was  not  yet  thoroughly  dark  as  I  made 
my  way  for  the  second  time  over  the  bloody  field.  I  passed 
again  between  the  Confederate  and  the  Federal  whom  I  had 
seen  lying  side  by  side.  Our  man  was  sitting  in  the  road, 
and  eating  hardtack. 

When  I  reached  the  battalion  all  ears  were  open  for  news. 
When  I  told  about  seeing  the  supposed  dead  man  alive  again 
and  eating  hardtack,  Charley  Wilson  shouted,  "  And  he  got  it 
out  of  that  Yankee's  haversack ! " 

For  a  while  that  night  the  battalion  lay  behind  the  brigade. 
At  ten  o'clock  Captain  Haskell  called  me.  He  was  sitting 
alone.     He  made  me  sit  by  him. 

"  Jones,"  said  he,  "  Company  A  will  not  move  to-night, 
but  the  other  companies  will  relieve  the  skirmishers  at  day- 
break." 

"  I  wish  Company  A  could  go,  too,"  said  I, 

"  Company  A  has  done  a  little  extra  duty  to-day ;  it  will  be 
held  in  reserve." 

"  But  what  extra  duty  has  Company  A  done,  Captain  ?  " 

"It  has  sent  one  man  on  special  service,"  said  he;  "you 
may  say  that  it  was  not  a  great  duty ;  but  it  was  something, 
and  rules  must  be  observed.  Of  course,  if  your  company 
happened  to  be  of  average  number  and  either  of  the  others 
was  very  small,  I  should  take  Company  A  instead.     But  it 


398  WHO   GOES  THEEE  ? 

does  not  so  happen ;  so  the  work  you  have  done  to-day  gives 
Company  A  a  rest  —  if  rest  it  can  be  called." 

"  But  why  not  take  the  whole  battalion  ?  " 

"  Only  two  companies  are  needed.  The  losses  of  the  bri- 
gade to-day  have  been  so  great  that  two  companies  can  cover 
our  front.  Lee  attacks  again,"  he  continued  sadly ;  "  he  has 
fought  but  one  defensive  battle." 

"  But  you  must  allow,  Captain,"  said  I,  "  that  Chancellors- 
ville  was  a  great  victory  —  and  to-day's  battle  also." 

"  Chancellorsville  was  indeed  a  great  victory,"  said  he ; 
"  but  the  enemy  is  as  strong  as  ever.  I  cannot  suggest  any- 
thing against  Chancellorsville,  except  that  I  think  that  we 
should  not  have  stopped  on  Sunday  morning  after  taking  the 
second  line  of  intrenchments.  General  Lee  heard  of  Sedg- 
wick's movement  just  at  the  wrong  time,  I  dare  say.  Should 
he  not  have  pressed  Hooker  into  the  river  before  giving 
attention  to  Sedgwick?"^ 

"  Then  you  believe  in  attacking,"  said  I. 

"  True ;  I  do  under  such  circumstances.  The  trouble  with 
us  has  been  that  we  attack  resisting  troops,  and  when  we 
defeat  them  we  refuse  to  trouble  them  any  more :  we  let  them 
get  away.  Yet,  as  you  say,  Chancellorsville  was  a  great  vic- 
tory ;  anything  that  would  have  sent  Hooker's  army  back 
over  the  river,  even  without  a  battle,  would  have  been  success. 
But  speaking  from  a  military  view,  I  dare  say  it  was  a  false 
movement  to  divide  our  forces  as  we  did  there.  We  suc- 
ceeded because  our  opponents  allowed  us  to  succeed.  It  was 
in  Hooker's  power  on  Saturday  to  crush  either  Jackson  or 
McLaws.  Yet,  as  you  suggest.  General  Lee  was  compelled  to 
take  great  risks;   no  matter  what  he  should  do,  his  position 

1  Captain  Haskell  is  wrong  here.  Hooker's  new  position  was  impregnable 
to  any  attack  the  Confederates  were  then  able  to  make.  Hooker  himself,  as 
well  as  his  army,  wished  for  the  Confederates  to  attack.  Lee's  march  against 
Sedgwick,  at  this  juncture,  was  the  right  movement.  See  the  Comtede  Paris, 
in  loc.    [Ed.] 


GLOOM  399 

seemed  •well-nigh  desperate,  and  he  succeeded  by  the  nar- 
rowest margin.  Even  on  Sunday  morning,  before  the  action 
began,  if  General  Lee  had  only  known  the  exact  condition 
below  us  at  Fredericksburg,  I  dare  say  Hooker  would  in  the 
end  have  claimed  a  victory,  for  General  Lee  would  not  have 
assaulted  Hooker's  works." 

"  But  would  he  not  have  overcome  Sedgwick  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Pardon  me.  After  Hooker's  defeat  Lee  could  afford  to 
march  against  Sedgwick,  but  not  before.  I  think  he  woidd 
have  retreated.  We  had  enormous  good  fortune.  It  was  as 
great  as  at  the  first  Manassas,  when  Beauregard,  finding  him- 
self flanked  by  McDowell,  won  the  battle  by  the  steady  con- 
duct of  a  few  regiments  who  held  the  enemy  until  Johnston's 
men  came  up.  Of  course  I  am  not  making  any  comparison 
between  Generals  Lee  and  Beauregard.  But  Manassas  and 
Chancellorsville  are  past,  and  observe,  sir,  what  a  loss  we 
have  had  to-day.  I  dare  say  the  enemy's  loss  is  heavier, 
but  he  can  stand  losses  here,  and  we  cannot ;  another  day  or 
two  like  to-day,  and  we  are  ruined.  To  beat  back  a  corps  of 
the  enemy  for  a  mile  or  so  until  it  occupies  a  stronger  posi- 
tion than  before,  is  not  — you  will  agree  with  me  —  the  de- 
fensive warfare  which  the  Confederacy  began.  What  can 
General  Lee  do  to-morrow  but  attack  ?  He  will  attack,  and  I 
trust  we  shall  defeat  Meade's  army ;  but  we  cannot  destroy  it, 
and  it  will  be  filled  up  again  long  before  we  can  get  any  re- 
enforcement.  Indeed,  Jones,  I  do  not  see  how  we  can  be  reen- 
f orced  at  all  —  so  far  from  our  base,  and  the  enemy  so  powerful 
to  prevent  it." 

"  Cannot  General  Lee  await  an  attack  ?  " 

"  I  fear  that  he  cannot,  Jones  ;  the  enemy  would  grow  stronger 
every  day,  while  we  should  become  weaker.  The  enemy  would 
not  attack  until  we  should  begin  to  retreat ;  then  they  would 
embarrass  our  retreat  and  endeavour  to  bring  us  to  battle." 

"  Then  you  would  advise  immediate  retreat  ?  " 

"  My  friend,  we  must  risk  a  battle.     But  even  if  we  gain  it, 


400  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

we  shall  be  losers.  The  campaign  was  false  from  the  start. 
Is  it  not  absurd  for  a  small  army  of  a  weak  nation  to  invade  a 
great  nation  in  the  face  of  more  powerful  armies  ?  If  we  had 
arms  which  the  Federals  could  not  match,  we  should  find  it 
easy  to  conquer  a  peace  on  this  field.  But  their  equipment 
is  superior  to  ours.  The  campaign  is  wrong.  If  inactivity 
could  not  have  been  tolerated,  we  should  have  reenforced  Gen- 
eral Bragg  and  regained  our  own  country  instead  of  running 
our  heads  against  this  wall  up  here.  But,  do  you  not  agree 
with  me  that  inactivity  would  have  been  best  ?  Hooker's 
army  would  not  have  stirred  this  summer  until  too  late  for 
any  important  campaign.  The  year  would  have  closed  with 
Virginia  secure  and  with  great  recuperation  to  all  our  eastern 
states.  Our  army  would  have  been  swelled  by  the  return  of 
our  wounded  and  sick,  without  any  losses  to  offset  our  increase. 
As  it  is,  our  losses  are  going  to  be  difficult  if  not  impossible 
to  make  up.  I  fear  that  Lee's  army  will  never  be  as  strong 
hereafter  as  it  is  to-night." 

"  But  would  not  a  great  victory  here  give  us  peace  ?  " 

"  I  fear  not ;  we  cannot  gain  such  a  victory  as  would  do 
that.  Look  at  the  victories  of  this  war.  They  have  been 
claimed  by  both  sides  —  many  of  them.  The  defeated  recover 
very  quickly.  Except  Fort  Donelson,  where  has  there  been 
a  great  victory  ?  " 

"  The  Chickahominy,"  said  I. 

"  Gaines's  Mill  was  a  victory ;  but  we  lost  more  men  than 
the  Federals,  and  McClellan  escaped  us." 

"  Second  Manassas." 

"Pope  claimed  a  victory  for  the  first  day,  and  his  army 
escaped  on  the  second  ^a,j.  True,  it  was  beaten,  but  it  is 
over  yonder  now  on  that  hill." 

"  Fredericksburg." 

''Yes;  that  was  a  victory,  and  Burnside  should  not  have 
been  allowed  to  get  away.  Do  you  remember  a  story  in  the 
camp  to  the  effect  that  Jackson  was  strongly  in  favour  of  a 


GLOOM  401 

night  attack  upon  the  Federals  huddled  up  on  our  side  of  the 
river  ?  " 

"Yes,  Captain.  I  heard  of  it  after  I  returned  from  the 
hospital.     You  know  I  was  not  in  the  battle." 

"  I  remember.  Well,  the  rumour  was  true.  General  Jack- 
son wished  to  throw  his  corps  upon  the  enemy  the  night 
after  the  battle ;  the  men  were  to  wear  strips  of  white  cloth 
around  their  arms  so  that  they  might  recognize  each  other.^' 

"  And  you  believe  the  attack  would  have  succeeded  ?  " 

"Beyond  all  question,  Jones.  We  should  have  driven 
the  Federals  into  the  river.  We  lost  there  our  greatest 
opportunity." 

"And  you  think  we  could  have  done  the  same  thing  to 
Hooker's  army  ?  " 

"  True  —  or  nearly  so ;  but  we  allowed  Hooker  as  well  as 
Burnside  to  get  away.  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  Gen- 
eral Lee  is  too  merciful,  and  that  he  is  restrained  because 
we  are  killing  our  own  people.  If  Burnside's  men  had  been 
of  a  foreign  nation,  I  think  Lee  might  have  listened  more 
willingly  to  Jackson.  The  feeling  may  have  been  balanced 
in  our  favour  at  Sharpsburg.  If  McClellan  had  been  killing 
Frenchmen,  I  dare  say  he  would  have  had  more  fight  in  him 
on  the  18th  of  September.  After  all  that  we  read  in  the 
newspapers,  Jones,  about  the  vandalism  practised  in  this  war, 
yet  this  war  is,  I  dare  say,  the  least  inhumane  that  ever  was 
waged.  I  don't  think  our  men  hate  the  men  on  the  other 
side." 

"  I  don't,"  said  I. 

"  Be  that  as  it  may ;  whether  we  are  too  merciful  or  too 
unfortunate  as  to  opportunity,  the  fact  remains  that  armies 
are  not  destroyed ;  they  get  away ;  when  we  gain  a  field,  it 
is  only  the  moral  effect  that  remains  with  us.  War  is  differ- 
ent from  the  old  wars.  The  only  thorough  defeats  are  sur- 
renders. It  would  take  days  for  Lee's  army  to  shoot  down 
Meade's  at  long  range,  even  if  Meade  should  stand  and  do 
2d 


402  WHO   GOES   THEKE  ? 

nothing.  We  may  defeat  Meade,  —  I  don't  see  why  we  should 
not,  —  but  in  less  than  a  week  we  should  be  compelled  to 
light  him  again,  and  we  should  be  weaker  and  he  would  be 
stronger  than  before." 

"I  have  often  wondered,"  said  I,  "how  the  ancients  de- 
stroyed whole  armies." 

"Conditions  allowed  them  to  do  it,"  said  the  Captain. 
"  In  Caesar's  wars,  for  instance,  men  fought  hand  to  hand, 
physical  strength  and  endurance  were  the  qualities  that  pre- 
vailed. The  men  became  exhausted  hacking  away  or  sling- 
ing away  at  each  other.  In  such  a  condition  a  regiment  of 
cavalry  is  turned  loose  on  a  broad  plain  against  a  division 
unable  to  flee,  and  one  horseman  puts  a  company  to  death ; 
all  he  has  to  do  is  to  cut  and  thrust." 

"  A  victory  should  at  least  enable  us  to  hold  our  ground 
until  we  could  get  reenforcements,"  I  said. 

"  True ;  but  we  should  get  one  man  and  the  enemy  would 
get  twenty." 

"  We  could  retire  after  victory,"  I  said. 

"  Can  you  believe  that  General  Lee  would  do  that  ?  I  do 
not  know  that  he  is  responsible  for  this  offensive  campaign, 
but  we  all  know  that  he  is  quicker  to  fight  than  to  retreat. 
It  is  astonishing  to  me  that  his  reputation  is  that  of  a 
defensive  general.  I  dare  say  his  wonderful  ability  as  an 
engineer  accounts  for  it." 

"If  we  should  gain  a  victory  here,  would  not  England  or 
France  recognize  us  ?  " 

"Would  it  not  require  a  succession  of  great  victories  for 
that  ?  Ever  since  Lincoln's  proclamation  there  has  been  no 
sound  hope  of  European  recognition.  There  was  one  hope, 
but  that  was  soon  gone." 

"  What  was  it,  Captain  ?  " 

"  The  hope  that  the  Confederacy  would  meet  Lincoln's 
order  by  emancipating  the  slaves  gradually." 

"  Was  that  seriously  thought  of  ?  " 


GLOOM  403 

"Yes;  there  was  much  discussion  of  it,  but  privately  in 
the  main.  We  do  not  know  what  took  place  in  Congress,  but 
it  has  leaked  out  that  there  was  a  strong  party  there  in  favour 
of  it.  Whether  any  vote  was  ever  had  I  do  not  know ;  I  dare 
say  those  in  favour  of  the  measure  found  they  were  not  strong 
enough,  and  thought  best  not  to  press  it." 

"  What  effect  would  such  a  course  have  had  ?  " 

"I  can  say  only  what  I  think.  I  believe  that  England 
would  have  recognized  us.  The  North,  too,  would  have  been 
disarmed,  in  a  measure.  In  fact,  the  great  bugaboo  that 
brought  on  the  war  would  have  been  laid  at  rest.  The  North 
would  have  been  eager  to  conciliate  the  South,  and  it  would 
have  become  possible  to  reconstruct  the  Union  with  clear  deJB.- 
nitions  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  States." 

"  I  remember  your  telling  me  long  ago  that  you  would  favour 
a  gradual  emancipation." 

"  Yes ;  our  form  of  slavery  is  not  bad,  it  is  true,  Jones ;  in 
fact,  there  is  great  justification  for  it.  It  is  too  universal, 
however.  It  does  not  give  enough  opportunity  for  a  slave 
to  develop,  and  to  make  a  future  for  himself.  Still,  we  have 
some  grand  men  among  the  slaves.  Many  of  them  would 
suffer  death  for  the  interest  of  their  masters'  families.  Then, 
too,  we  have  in  the  South  a  type  unknown  in  the  rest  of  the 
world  since  feudalism :  we  have  in  Virginia,  in  South  Caro- 
lina, in  Louisiana,  reproductions  of  the  old  nobility.  The 
world  is  richer  for  such  men.  The  general  condition  of  the 
slaves  is  good.  We  know  that  the  negro  is  an  inferior  race. 
We  have  done  him  no  injustice  by  giving  him  a  small  share 
in  a  civilization  which  his  kings  could  never  know.  He  was 
a  slave  at  home ;  he  is  less  a  slave  here.  He  has  been 
contented.  Witness  his  docility,  his  kindness  even,  to  our 
wives  and  children  while  his  masters  are  at  war,  seemingly  to 
perpetuate  his  bonds.  Such  conduct  deserves  recognition.  I 
would  say  that  a  system  of  rewards  should  be  planned  by 
which  a  worthy  negro,  ambitious  to  become  free,  could  by 


404  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

meritorious  conduct  achieve  his  freedom.  But  this  act  of  Lin- 
coln's is  monstrous.  It  is  good  for  nobody.  A  race  of  slaves, 
suddenly  become  free,  is  a  race  of  infants  with  the  physical 
force  of  men.  What  would  become  of  them  ?  Suppose  the 
North  should  succeed.  Suppose  the  Confederate  armies  dis- 
banded, and  the  States  back  in  the  Union  or  held  as  terri- 
tories. Has  anybody  the  least  idea  that  the  whites  of  the 
South  would  tolerate  the  new  dignity  of  their  former  slaves  ? 
The  condition  would  be  but  the  beginning  of  race  hatred  that 
would  grow  into  active  hostility,  and  would  never  end.  The 
whites  would  band  together  and  punish  negro  offences  more 
severely  than  ever.  The  negroes  could  not  combine.  The 
result  would  be  cruelty  to  the  black  man ;  his  condition  would 
be  far  worse  than  before.  Even  supposing  that  Northern 
armies  should  indefinitely  occupy  all  our  territory ;  even  sup- 
posing that  our  own  people  should  be  driven  out  and  our  lands 
given  to  the  slaves  —  what  would  become  of  them  ?  We  know 
their  character.  They  look  not  one  day  ahead.  There  would 
be  famine,  riot,  pestilence,  anarchy.  And  the  worst  men  of 
the  race  would  hold  the  rest  in  terror.  Immorality  woiild  be 
at  a  premium,  sir.  The  race  would  lose  what  it  had  gained. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  put  into  practice  a  plan  for  gradual 
freedom  based  on  good  conduct;  you  would  see  whites  and 
blacks  living  in  peace.  The  negro  would  begin  to  improve, 
and  the  white  people  would  help  him.  It  would  not  be  long 
before  the  ideal  of  the  negro  would  be  individual  freedom, 
not  race  freedom,  as  it  is  the  white  man's  ideal  now.  There 
would  be  great  striving  throughout  the  negro  race,  which 
would  be  affected  thereby  from  first  to  last  of  them.  Yes,  I 
believe  that  if  we  had  so  done  we  should  have  been  recog- 
nized. Engla.nd  does  not  believe  in  sudden  emancipation. 
She  provides  for  the  freeing  of  the  slaves  throughout  her 
dominions,  but  gradually  carries  her  plans  into  effect,  and  she 
pays  the  owners.  I  sometimes  think  that  the  American  Revo- 
lution was  a  mistake  for  the  Southern  colonies,  for  South 
Carolina  especially." 


GLOOM  405 

"  A  mistake,  Captain  ?     That  is  a  new  idea  to  me." 

"  We  certainly  had  not  the  reason  to  rebel  that  Massachu- 
setts had.  Our  best  people  —  and  we  had  many  of  them  — 
were  closely  allied  to  the  best  of  the  English,  more  closely  than 
to  Massachusetts.  Our  trade  with  the  mother  country  was 
profitable,  and  our  products  were  favoured  by  bounties.  We 
had  no  connection  with  the  French  and  Indian  wars  which 
had  given  rise  to  so  much  trouble  between  Great  Britain  and 
New  England.  But  our  people  thought  it  would  be  base  to 
desert  the  cause  of  Massachusetts.  I  dare  say  this  thought 
was  the  main  reason  that  caused  South  Carolina  to  throw  in 
her  lot  with  that  of  our  Northern  colonies.  See  what  we  get 
for  it.  We  renounce  our  profitable  commerce  with  England, 
and  we  help  our  sister  colonies  ;  just  so  soon  as  their  profit- 
able commerce  with  us  is  threatened  by  our  withdrawal,  they 
maintain  it  by  putting  us  to  death.  It  is  their  nature,  sir. 
They  live  by  trade.  If  they  continue  to  increase  in  power, 
they  will  hold  the  West  in  commercial  subjection  —  and  the 
isles  of  the  sea,  if  they  can  ever  reach  to  them.  Death  has  no 
such  terrors  to  them  as  loss  of  trade." 

"But  could  the  Eevolution  have  succeeded  without  the 
South  ?  " 

"Certainly  not.  The  South  really  bore  the  brunt  of  the 
war.  New  England  suffered  very  little.  New  York  suffered  ; 
so  did  Pennsylvania  and  New  Jersey,  but  nothing  in  com- 
parison with  South  Carolina,  which  was  in  reality  no  more 
than  a  conquered  province  for  years,  and  yet  held  faithful  to 
the  cause  of  the  colonies.  And  it  was  the  eventual  success  of 
the  Southern  arms  that  caused  the  surrender  of  Cornwallis. 
The  North  is  very  ungrateful  to  us." 

"With  Great  Britain  and  America  under  one  government, 
we  should  have  been  a  very  powerful  nation,"  said  I,  mus- 
ingly. 

"  And  this  war  never  would  have  been  possible.  Our  slaves 
would  have  been  freed  wisely,  and  we  should  have  been  paid 


406  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

for  them.  England  and  America  could  have  controlled  the 
world  in  peace ;  but  here  we  are,  diligently  engaged  in  killing 
one  another." 

"Captain,  I  think  our  men  are  in  better  spirits  than  ever 
before." 

"  That  is  very  true,  Jones.  They  are  full  of  hope  and 
courage.  I  have  hope  also,  but  I  see  no  quick  ending  to  this 
war." 

"I  don't  believe  this  array  can  be  defeated,"  said  I. 

"  It  cannot.  It  may  suffer  great  losses,  and  be  forced  to 
retreat,  —  indeed,  I  think  that  consequence  a  natural  infer- 
ence from  the  situation,  —  but  it  cannot  be  badly  defeated ; 
it  cannot  be  disorganized.  It  would  take  months  to  over- 
come it." 

"  Then  you  really  believe  that  we  shall  retreat  ?  " 

*'  Yes ;  I  believe  we  shall  fight,  and  we  shall  fight  hard,  and 
have  losses,  but  the  enemy  will  be  very  cautious  of  attack, 
and  those  of  us  who  are  able  to  march  shall  see  Virginia 
again." 

"  Those  who  are  able  to  march  ?  Could  we  leave  our 
wounded  here  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  only  of  the  fallen.  If  ever  the  history  of 
this  war  is  truly  written,  the  greatest  honours  of  all  will  be 
paid  to  the  common  soldiers,  men  who,  without  a  particle  of 
interest  in  slaves,  give  their  lives  for  independence  —  the 
independence  of  their  States.  Yet  it  is  useless  to  grieve  in 
anticipation." 

"A  soldier's  death  should  not  be  a  thing  to  grieve  over," 
said  I ;  ''at  least,  so  it  seems  to  me.  I  think  I  should  prefer 
death  in  battle  to  death  by  disease." 

''True;  and  death  must  come,  sooner  or  later,  to  all  of  us. 

"  '  On  two  days  it  steads  not  to  run  from  the  grave, 
The  appointed  and  the  unappointed  day  ; 
On  the  first,  neither  balm  nor  physician  can  save, 
Nor  thee,  on  the  second,  the  Universe  slay.'" 


GLOOM  407 

"  Who  is  that,  Captain  ?  " 

"  The  Persian  Omar  Khayyam,  followed  by  Emerson," 

"  How  do  you  spell  that  Persian's  name.  Captain  ?  " 

"  K-h-a-y-y-a-m." 

"  And  you  pronounce  it  Ki-yam  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  way  I  pronounced  it ;  is  it  not  correct  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  never  heard  of  him  before,  but  the  name 
seems  not  unfamiliar.     Is  he  living  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  dead  centuries  since.  Were  you  hoping  to  find 
one  of  your  old  personal  friends  ?  " 

"  Don't  laugh.  Captain.  Somehow  the  name  seems  to  carry 
me  back  somewhere." 

"  Maybe  you  knew  him  in  a  previous  existence." 

"  Don't  laugh.  Captain.  It  is  not  the  words,  but  merely  the 
name  that  strikes  me.     You  don't  believe  the  words  yourself." 

"  I  do  and  I  do  not.     I  believe  them  in  a  sense." 

"  In  what  sense.  Captain  ?  " 

"  In  the  sense  in  which  the  poet  taught.  The  religion  of 
the  East  is  fatalism.  A  fatalist  who  endeavours  to  shun  death 
is  inconsistent." 

''  But  you  are  not  a  fatalist." 

"  No,  and  yes.  Another  poet  has  said  that  divinity  shapes 
the  ends  that  we  rough-hew ;  I  should  reverse  this  and  say 
that  life  is  blocked  out  in  the  large  for  us  by  powers  over 
which  we  can  have  no  control,  but  that  within  certain  limits 
we  do  the  shaping  of  our  own  lives." 

"  A  new  and  better  version,"  said  I ;  "  to-morrow  some 
shaping  will  be  done.  What  effect  on  the  general  result  to 
nations  and  the  world  does  one  battle,  more  or  fewer,  have  ?  " 

"  Some  events  are  counterbalanced  by  others,  seemingly,  and 
the  result  is  nothing ;  but  every  event  is  important  to  some 
life." 

"  Captain,  Youmans  says  he  got  to  the  top  of  the  hill  over 
yonder,  and  that  we  could  have  occupied  it  but  that  our  men 
were  recalled." 


408  WHO  GOES   THEEE  ? 

"  It  would  have  made  little  difference,"  said  lie.  "  The 
enemy  would  only  have  intrenched  farther  off.  I  dare  say 
they  are  digging  at  this  moment." 

Then  he  said,  "  Go  back  to  your  place,  Jones,  and  never 
fail  to  do  your  full  duty.  I  am  serious,  because  war  is  serious. 
The  more  we  have  to  do,  the  more  must  we  nerve  ourselves  to 
do  it.  We  must  collect  all  our  energies,  and  each  man  must 
do  the  work  of  two.  Impress  the  men  strongly  with  the 
necessity  for  courage  and  endurance." 

The  full  moon  was  shining  in  high  heaven.  I  bade  the 
Captain  good  night. 

******* 

On  the  morning  of  July  2d,  Company  A  still  lay  behind 
the  brigade,  which  was  in  line  a  little  to  the  south  of  the  Semi- 
nary. The  sun  shone  hot.  The  skirmishers  were  busy  in 
front.  Artillery  roared  at  our  left  and  far  to  our  right.  At 
times  shells  came  over  us.  A  caisson  near  by  exploded.  In 
the  afternoon  a  great  battle  was  raging  some  two  miles  to  our 
right.     Longstreet's  corps  had  gone  in. 

At  four  o'clock  I  saw  some  litter-bearers  moving  to  the 
rear.  On  the  litter  was  a  body.  The  litter-bearers  halted. 
A  few  men  gathered  around.  Then  the  men  of  Company  H 
began  to  stir.  Some  of  them  approached  the  litter.  Who  was 
it  ?  I  became  anxious.  The  men  came  slowly  back  —  one  at 
a  time  —  grim. 

I  asked  who  it  was  that  had  been  killed. 

"  Captain  Haskell,"  they  said. 

My  tongue  failed  me,  as  my  pen  does  now.  What !  Cap- 
tain Haskell  ?  Our  Captain  dead  ?  Who  had  ever  thought 
that  he  might  be  killed  ?  I  now  knew  that  I  had  considered 
him  like  Washington  —  in^a^lnerable.  He  had  passed  through 
so  many  dangers  unhurt,  had  been  exposed  to  so  many  deaths 
that  had  refused  to  demand  him,  had  so  freely  offered  his  life, 
had  been  so  calm  and  yet  so  valiant  in  battle,  had  been  so 
worshipped  by  all  the  left  wing  of  the  regiment  and  by  the 


GLOOM  409 

battalion,  had  been  so  wise  in  council  and  so  forceful  in  the 
field,  had,  in  fine,  been  one  of  those  we  instinctively  feel  are 
heroes  immortal !  And  now  he  was  dead  ?  It  could  not  be  ! 
There  must  be  some  mistake  ! 

But  I  looked,  and  I  saw  Lieutenant  Barnwell  in  tears,  and 
I  saw  Sergeant  Mackay  in  tears,  and  I  saw  Rhodes  in  tears  — 
and  I  broke  down  utterly. 


XXXII 

NIGHT 

"  From  camp  to  camp,  through  the  foul  womb  of  night, 
The  hum  of  either  army  stilly  sounds, 
That  the  fixed  sentinels  almost  receive 
The  secret  whispers  of  each  other's  watch." 

—  Shakespeare. 

As  the  sun  was  setting  on  that  doleful  day,  Company  A 
was  ordered  forward  to  the  skirmish-line.  We  dej^loyed  and 
marched  down  the  hill  in  front  of  the  Seminary.  Cemetery 
Height  was  crowned  with  cannon  and  intrenched  infantry. 
The  wheat  field  on  its  slope  was  alive  with  skirmishers  whose 
shots  dropped  amongst  us  as  we  advanced.  Down  our  hili 
and  into  the  hollow ;  there  the  fire  increased  and  we  lay  flat 
on  the  ground.  Our  skirmish-line  was  some  two  or  three 
hundred  yards  in  front  of  us,  in  the  wheat  on  the  slope  of 
the  ascent.     Twilight  had  come. 

Just  on  my  left  a  brigade  advanced  up  the  hill  through  the 
wheat ;  what  for,  nobody  knew  and  nobody  will  ever  know.^ 
It  was  Ramseur's  brigade  of  Rodes's  division. 

Company  A  advanced  and  united  to  Company  C's  left.  I 
was  now  the  left  guide  of  the  battalion.  I  saw  no  pickets  at 
my  left.  I  thought  it  likely  that  the  brigade  advancing  had 
taken  the  skirmishers  into  its  ranks. 

Kamseur's  men  continued  to  go  forward  up  the  hill  through 
the  wheat.  We  could  yet  see  them,  but  indistinctly.  They 
began  firing  and  shouting;    they  charged  the  Federal  army. 

1  Ramseur's  was  the  extreme  right  brigade  of  Ewell's  corps,  which  at  the 
moment  was  making  an  attaeii  upon  Gulp's  Hill.     [Ed.] 

410 


NIGHT  411 

What  was  expected  of  thein  ?  It  seemed  absurd ;  perhaps  it 
was  a  feint.  The  flashes  of  many  rifles  could  be  seen.  Sud- 
denly the  brigade  came  running  back  down  the  hill,  helter- 
skelter,  every  man  for  himself.  They  passed  us,  and  went 
back  toward  the  main  lines  on  Seminary  Eidge. 

It  was  my  duty  to  connect  our  left  with  the  right  of  the 
pickets  of  the  next  brigade.  But  I  saw  nobody.  Kamseur 
had  left  no  picket  in  these  parts.  His  men  had  gone,  all  of 
them,  except  those  who  had  remained  and  must  remain  in  the 
wheat  farther  up  the  hill. 

Where  was  the  picket-line  to  which  ours  must  connect  ?  I 
made  a  circiiit  to  my  left,  a  hundred  yards  or  more ;  no  pickets. 
I  returned  and  passed  word  down  the  line  to  the  lieutenant  in 
command  of  Company  A  that  I  wanted  to  see  him  on  the  left. 
He  came,  and  I  explained  the  trouble.  The  lieutenant  did 
not  know  what  to  do.  This  gentleman  was  a  valuable  officer 
in  the  line,  but  was  out  of  place  in  the  battalion.  He  asked 
me  what  ought  to  be  done.  I  replied  that  we  must  not  fail  to 
connect,  else  there  would  be  a  gap  in  the  line,  and  how  wide  a 
gap  nobody  could  tell.  If  I  had  known  then  what  I  know 
now,  I  should  have  told  him  to  report  the  condition  to  Colonel 
Perrin,  who  was  in  command  of  the  brigade,  but  I  did  other- 
wise ;  I  told  him  that  if  he  would  remain  on  the  left,  I  would 
hunt  for  the  picket-line.     He  consented. 

I  first  went  to  the  left  very  far,  and  then  to  the  rear  and 
searched  a  long  time,  but  found  nobody.  I  returned  to  the 
left  of  Company  A  and  proposed  to  go  forward  through  the 
wheat  and  hunt  for  our  pickets.     The  lieutenant  approved. 

The  word  was  passed  down  the  line  that  I  was  going  to  the 
front.  I  moved  slowly  up  the  hill  through  the  wheat.  There 
was  a  moon,  over  which  bunches  of  cloud  passed  rapidly. 
While  the  moon  would  be  hidden  I  went  forward.  When  the 
cloud  had  passed,  I  stooped  and  looked.  Here  and  there  in 
the  wheat  lay  dead  skirmishers,  and  guns,  and  many  signs  of 
battle.     The  wheat  had  been  trodden  down. 


412  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

Cautiously  I  moved  on  until  I  was  a  hundred  yards  in 
advance  of  the  battalion.  I  saw  no  picket.  Here  the  wheat 
was  standing,  in  most  places  untrodden.  I  looked  back  down 
the  hill ;  I  could  not  see  our  own  men.  I  went  forward  again 
for  forty  yards.  Now  at  my  right  I  saw  a  fence,  or  rather  a 
line  of  bushes  and  briers  which  had  grown  u^p  where  a  fence  had 
been  in  years  past.  This  fence-row  stretched  straight  up  the 
hill  toward  the  cemetery.  I  went  to  it.  It  would  serve  my 
purpose  thoroughly.  In  the  shelter  of  this  friendly  row  of 
bushes  I  crept  slowly  up  the  hill.  I  was  now  in  front  of 
Company  A's  right. 

The  moon  shone  out  and  then  was  hidden.  I  was  two  hun- 
dred yards  in  advance  of  the  battalion.  I  laid  my  gun  on  the 
ground  and  crawled  along  the  fence-row  for  fifty  yards,  at 
every  instant  pausing  and  looking.  I  reached  a  denser  and 
taller  clump  of  bushes,  and  raised  myself  to  my  full  height. 
In  front  were  black  spots  in  the  wheat  —  five  paces  apart  —  a 
picket-line  —  whose  ? 

The  spots  looked  very  black.  Gray  would  look  black  in 
this  wheat  with  the  moonlight  on  it.  I  turned  my  belt-buckle 
behind  my  back,  lest  the  metal  should  shine.  The  line  of 
spots  was  directly  in  front  of  me,  and  on  both  sides  of  the 
fence-row.  The  line  seemed  to  stretch  across  the  front  of  the 
whole  battalion.  If  that  was  our  picket,  why  should  there 
be  another  in  rear  of  it  ?     They  must  be  Yankees. 

I  looked  at  them  for  two  minutes.  They  were  still  as  death. 
The  line  was  perfect.  If  it  was  a  Confederate  line,  there  might 
be  men  nearer  to  me,  —  ofl&cers,  or  men  going  and  returning  in 
its  rear,  —  but  the  line  seemed  straight  and  perfect.  The  spots 
did  not  seem  tall  enough  for  standing  men.  No  doubt  they 
were  sitting  in  the  wheat  with  their  guns  in  their  laps.  I 
heard  no  word  —  not  a  sound  except  the  noises  coming  from 
the  crest  of  the  hill  beyond  them,  where  was  the  Federal  line 
of  battle.  I  looked  back.  Seminary  Ridge  seemed  very  far. 
I  crawled  back  to  my  gun,  picked  it  up,  rose,  and  looked  again 


NIGHT  413 

toward  the  cemetery.  I  could  no  longer  see  the  spots.  I 
walked  back  down  the  hill,  moving  off  to  my  right  in  order  to 
strike  the  left  of  Company  A.     The  battalion  had  not  budged. 

I  reported.  The  lieutenant  was  chagrined.  I  told  him  that 
I  felt  almost  sure  that  the  men  I  had  seen  were  Yankees. 
What  to  do  ?  We  ought  to  have  sent  a  man  back  to  the  bri- 
gade, but  we  did  not.  Why  we  did  not,  I  do  not  know,  unless 
it  was  that  we  felt  it  our  duty  to  solve  the  difficulty  ourselves. 
The  left  of  the  battalion  was  unprotected ;  this  would  not  do. 
Something  must  be  done. 

I  suggested  that  the  left  platoon  of  Company  A  extend 
intervals  to  ten  paces  and  cover  more  ground.  The  lieutenant 
approved.  The  left  platoon  extended  intervals  to  ten  paces, 
moving  silently  from  centre  to  left.  This  filled  perhaps 
sixty  yards  of  the  unknown  gap.  Still  no  pickets  could  be 
seen.     I  made  a  semicircle  far  to  my  left  and  returned. 

Captain  Haskell  was  not  there.  He  would  have  sent  ten 
men  to  the  left  until  something  was  found.  He  would  have 
filled  the  interval,  even  had  it  required  the  whole  battalion  to 
stretch  to  twenty  steps  apart,  at  least  until  he  could  report 
to  Colonel  Perrin,  or  General  Pender.  Lieutenant  Sharpe, 
in  command  of  the  battalion,  was  far  to  the  right  —  perhaps 
four  himdred  yards  from  us.  We  should  have  sent  word  to 
him  down  the  line,  but  we  did  not  do  it.  The  night  was  grow- 
ing. How  wide  was  the  gap  ?  Why  did  not  the  pickets  on 
the  other  side  of  this  gap  search  for  us  ?  If  the  enemy  knew 
our  condition,  a  brigade  or  more  might  creep  through  the  gap; 
still  the  lieutenant  did  not  propose  anything. 

At  last  I  said  that  although  the  picket-line  in  front  looked 
like  a  Yankee  line,  it  was  yet  possible  that  it  was  ours,  and 
that  I  thought  I  could  get  nearer  to  it  than  I  had  been  before, 
and  speak  to  the  men  without  great  danger.  Truth  is,  that  I 
had  begun  to  fear  sarcasm.  What  if,  to-morrow  morning,  we 
should  see  a  line  of  gray  pickets  in  our  front  ?  Should  I  ever 
hear  the  last  of  it  ? 


414  WHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

Again  tlie  lieiitenant  approved.  He  would  have  approved  of 
anything.  He  was  a  brave  officer.  I  verily  believe  that  if  I 
had  proposed  an  advance  of  Company  A  up  the  hill,  he  would 
have  approved,  and  would  have  led  the  advance. 

The  company  stood  still,  and  I  started  again.  I  reached  the 
place  where  I  had  been  before,  and  crawled  on  a  few  yards 
farther.  A  gain  the  thought  came  that  there  would  have  been 
some  communicating  between  that  line  and  ours  if  that  were 
Confederate.  If  they  were  our  men,  we  had  been  in  their  rear 
for  three  hours.  Impossible  to  suppose  that  nobody  in  that 
time  should  have  come  back  to  the  rear.  Clearly  it  was  a 
Federal  line,  and  I  was  in  its  front.  Then  it  occurred  to  me 
that  it  was  possible  they  had  a  man  or  two  in  the  fence-row 
between  me  and  their  line.  There  could  be  no  need  for  that, 
yet  the  idea  made  me  shiver.  At  every  yard  of  my  progress 
I  raised  my  head,  and  the  black  spots  were  larger  —  and  not 
less  black.  They  were  very  silent  and  very  motionless  —  the 
sombre  night-picture  of  skirmishers  on  extreme  duty  ;  whoever 
they  were,  they  felt  strongly  the  presence  of  the  enemy. 

Ten  yards  in  front,  and  ten  feet  to  the  right,  I  saw  a  post  — 
a  gate-post,  I  supposed.  There  was  no  gate.  This  fence-row, 
along  which  I  was  crawling,  indicated  a  fence  rotted  down  or 
removed.  There  had  once  been  a  gate  hanging  to  that  post 
and  closing  against  another  post  now  concealed  by  the  bushes 
of  the  fence-row.  I  would  crawl  to  that  post  out  there,  and 
speak  to  the  men  in  front.  They  would  suppose  that  I  was  in 
the  fence-row,  and,  if  they  fired,  would  shoot  into  the  bushes, 
while  I  should  be  safe  behind  the  post  —  such  was  my  thought. 

I  reached  the  post.  It  was  a  hewn  post  of  large  size  —  post- 
oak,  I  thought.  I  lay  down  behind  it ;  I  raised  my  head  and 
looked.  The  black  spots  were  very  near  —  perhaps  thirty  or 
forty  yards  in  front.  The  line  stretched  on  to  my  right.  I 
could  not  now  see  toward  the  left  —  through  the  fence-row. 

It  was  not  necessary  to  speak  very  loud. 

I  asked,  "  Whose  picket  is  that  ?  " 


NIGHT  415 

My  voice  sounded  strangely  tremulous. 

There  was  no  answer. 

If  they  were  Confederates,  I  was  in  their  rear,  and  there 
would  be  no  sense  in  their  refusal  to  reply ;  some  one  would 
have  said,  "  Come  up  and  see ! "  or  something.  There  was  no 
movement.  I  could  see  that  the  black  spots  had  become  large 
objects;  the  moon  was  shining. 

I  must  ask  again. 

I  remember  that  at  that  moment  I  thought  of  our  Captain  — 
dead  that  day. 

I  spoke  again,  "  Gentlemen,  is  that  the  picket  of  E-amseur's 
brigade  ?  " 

No  answer. 

Again  I  spoke,  ''  Gentlemen,  is  that  Ramseur's  North 
Carolina  brigade  ?  " 

Not  a  word. 

It  now  seemed  folly  for  me  to  remain.  Who  were  these 
men  ?  Certainly  Federals.  I  was  in  imminent  danger  of  be- 
ing captured.  Two  or  three  men  might  rush  forward  and 
seize  me  before  I  could  get  to  my  feet.  Yet,  would  not  a  line 
of  our  men  out  here  be  silent  ?  They  would  be  very  near  the 
enemy  and  would  be  very  silent.  But  they  would  send  a  man 
back  to  make  me  stop  talking.  They  were  Yankees ;  but  why 
did  they  not  say  something  ?  or  do  something  ?  Perhaps  they 
were  in  doubt  about  me.  I  was  so  near  their  lines  they  could 
hardly  believe  me  a  Confederate.  I  half  decided  to  slip  away 
at  once. 

But  I  wished  some  conclusion  to  the  matter.  I  wanted  to 
satisfy  the  lieutenant  and  myself  also. 

Again  I  spoke,  "  Will  you  please  tell  me  what  brigade  that 
is?" 

A  voice  replied,  "  Our  brigade  !  " 

This  reply,  in  my  opinion,  was  distinctly  Confederate.  I 
had  heard  it  frequently.  It  was  an  old  thing.  Often,  when 
waiting  for  troops  to  pas^,  you  would  ask,  "  What  regiment 


416  WHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

is  that  ? "  and  some  would-be  wag  would  say,  "  Our  regi- 
ment." 

I  rose  to  my  feet  behind  the  post,  but  dropped  again  as 
quickly.  Before  I  had  stood  erect  the  thought  came  that  pos- 
sibly the  Yankees  also  had  this  old  by-word.  Then  another 
thought  —  had  the  Yankees  selected  one  man  to  reply  to  me  ? 
Had  all  but  one  been  ordered  to  preserve  silence,  and  was  this 
one  an  expert  chosen  to  entrap  me  ?  A  man  perhaps  who 
knew  something  of  the  sayings  in  the  Southern  army  ? 

Now,  in  an  effort  to  bring  things  to  a  pass,  I  shouted  loud, 
"  What  army  do  you  belong  to  ?  " 

Another  voice  shouted  loud,  "  What  army  do  you  belong 
to?" 

I  had  emphasized  the  word  "  army."  He  had  emphasized  the 
word  "  you." 

Perhaps  they  thought  I  might  be  one  of  their  own  men,  sent 
out  in  front  and  trying  to  return ;  but  if  that  were  the  case, 
why  did  they  not  bid  me  come  in?  If  they  thought  me  a 
Confederate,  very  likely  they  thought  I  was  trying  to  desert, 
and  feeling  my  way  through  fear  of  falling  into  the  hands  of 
the  wrong  people. 

I  replied  at  once,  "  I  am  a  rebel." 

What  it  was  that  influenced  me  to  use  the  word  I  do  not 
know,  unless  it  was  that  I  thought  that  if  they  were  our  men  I 
was  safe,  being  in  their  rear,  and  that  if  they  were  Yankees  they 
would  at  once  accept  the  challenge.    I  wanted  to  end  the  matter. 

They  accepted. 

A  dozen  voices  shouted,  "We  are  for  the  Union! "  and  half 
a  dozen  rifles  cracked. 

They  must  have  fired  into  the  fence-row.  I  heard  no  bullet  — 
but  then,  no  bullet  can  be  heard  at  such  a  nearness. 

I  kept  my  post  —  flat  on  my  face.  It  would  not  be  best  for 
me  to  rise  and  run.  Perhaps  I  could  get  off  by  doing  so,  but  I 
could  manage  better.  I  would  remain  quiet  until  they  should 
think  I  had  gone.     Then  I  would  crawl  away. 


NIGHT  417 

Two  or  three  minutes  passed.  I  was  making  up  my  mind 
to  start.  Suddenly  a  gruff  voice  spoke.  It  was  near  me.  It 
was  in  the  fence-row.  A  Yankee  had  crept  toward  me.  He 
said,  at  an  ordinary  pitch,  but  very  gruffly,  "Who are  you,  any- 
how ?  " 

If  he  is  yet  alive,  these  lines  may  inform  him  that  I  was 
Jones.  It  was  my  time  to  be  silent.  I  feared  that  he  would 
continue  to  come,  but  the  next  instant  I  knew  that  he  was  in 
doubt  as  to  how  many  I  was,  and  I  stuck  fast. 

I  heard  nothing  more.  No  doubt  he  had  given  it  up  —  had 
gone  back  and  reported  that  the  enemy  had  disappeared  from 
the  immediate  front. 

Five  minutes  more,  and  I  had  picked  up  my  gun  and  was 
walking  back  to  our  line.  I  struck  it  in  front  of  Company  C, 
whose  men  had  been  warned  that  I  was  out,  but  who  now  had 
to  be  restrained  from  firing  on  me.  They  had  heard  the  voices 
up  the  hill,  and  bullets  had  whistled  over  them,  and  they  had 
thought  me  a  prisoner,  so  when  they  saw  a  man  coming  toward 
them  they  were  itching  to  shoot. 

We  remained  all  night  as  we  were,  with  a  gap  in  the  skir- 
mish-line at  the  left  of  Pender's  division. 


XXXIII 


"  Each  volley  tells  that  thousands  cease  to  breathe ; 
Death  rides  upon  the  sulphury  Siroc, 
Red  Battle  stamps  his  foot,  and  nations  feel  the  shock." 

— Btkon. 

The  morning  came  —  tlie  morning  of  Friday,  the  3d  of 
July.  Just  as  the  sun  was  rising  in  our  faces  the  Federal 
skirmisheis  advanced.  Down  the  hill  they  came  at  the  run. 
Lieutenant  Sharpe  ordered  a  countercharge,  and  the  battalion 
rushed  to  meet  the  enemy.  We  were  almost  intermixed  with 
them  before  they  ran.  And  now  our  lieutenant  of  Company 
A  showed  his  mettle.  He  sprang  before  his  company,  sword 
in  his  left  hand  and  revolver  in  the  other,  and  led  the  fight, 
rushing  right  up  the  hill,  and,  when  near  enough,  firing  every 
barrel  of  his  pistol.  We  took  a  few  prisoners.  Both  lines  set- 
tled back  to  their  first  positions. 

We  had  lost  some  men.  A  detail  of  infirmary  people  came 
from  the  rear  to  carry  off  the  wounded,  Hutto  had  been 
shot  badly.  As  four  men  lifted  the  stretcher,  one  of  them  was 
killed,  and  Hutto  rolled  heavily  to  the  ground.  Another  of 
the  litter  bearers  was  shot,  leaving  but  two ;  they  raised  their 
stretcher  in  the  air  and  moved  it  about  violently.  The  Yan- 
kees ceased  firing. 

The  day  had  begun  well,  but  we  knew  there  was  long  and 
deadly  work  ahead.  We  began  to  make  protection.  Low 
piles  of  rails,  covered  with  wheat-straw  and  earth  dug  up  by 
bare  hands,  soon  appeared  along  the  line.  The  protection  was 
slight,  yet  by  lying  flat  our  bodies  could  not  be  seen.     On  their 

418 


HELL  .  419 

side  the  Yankee  skirmishers  also  had  worked,  and  were  now 
behind  low  heaps  of  rails  and  earth.  Practice-shooting  began, 
and  was  kept  up  without  intermission  for  hour  after  hour. 

We  lay  in  the  broiling  sun.  Orders  came  down  the  line  for 
the  men  to  be  sparing  with  water. 

From  my  pit  I  could  look  back  and  see  the  cupola  of  the 
Seminary  —  could  see  through  the  cupola  from  one  window  to 
the  other.     The  Seminary  was  General  Lee's  headquarters. 

To  our  right  and  front  was  a  large  brick  barn  —  the  Bliss 
"barn.  Captain  Haskell  had  been  killed  by  a  bullet  fired 
from  this  barn.  It  was  five  hundred  yards  from  the  pits  of 
Company  A. 

The  Bliss  barn  was  held  by  the  Yankees.  The  skirmishers 
beyond  the  right  of  the  battalion  charged  and  took  it.  A 
regiment  advanced  from  the  Federal  side,  drove  our  men  off, 
and  occupied  the  barn.  They  began  to  enfilade  the  pits  of 
Company  A.     All  the  while,  we  were  engaged  in  front. 

A  shot  from  the  barn  killed  Sergeant  Rhodes.  Orders  came 
down  the  line  for  me  to  take  his  place  at  the  right  of  the 
company. 

Since  the  day  before,  I  had  thought  that  I  had  one  friend  in 
Company  A  —  Rhodes.     Now  Rhodes  was  dead. 

We  fired  at  the  men  Avho  showed  themselves  at  the  barn — 
right  oblique  five  hundred  yards. 

We  fired  at  the  skirmishers  behind  the  rail  piles  in  front  — 
two  hundred  yards. 

A  man  in  a  pit  opposite  mine  hit  my  cartridge-box.  I  could 
see  him  loading.  His  hand  was  in  the  air.  I  saw  him  as  low 
as  his  shoulder.  I  took  good  aim.  A  question  arose  in  my 
mind  —  and  again  I  thought  of  the  Captain:  Am  I  angry  with 
that  man  ?  Do  I  feel  any  hatred  of  him  ?  And  the  answer 
came :  No ;  I  am  fighting  for  life  and  liberty  ;  I  hate  nobody. 
I  fired,  and  saw  the  man  no  more. 

Our  men  far  to  the  right  retook  the  barn.  Again  the  enemy 
recovered  it. 


420  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

Cartridges  were  running  low.  Some  brave  men  ran  back  to 
the  line  of  battle  for  more  cartridges.  The  skirmishing  was 
incessant.  Our  losses  were  serious.  We  had  fought  con- 
stantly from  sunrise  until  past  midday,  and  there  was  no  sign 
of  an  ending. 

At  one  o'clock  a  shell  from  our  rear  flew  far  above  us,  and 
then  the  devil  broke  loose.  More  than  a  hundred  guns  joined 
in,  and  the  air  was  full  of  sounds.  The  Bliss  barn  was  in 
flames.  The  Federal  batteries  answering  doubled  the  din  and 
made  the  valley  and  its  slopes  a  hell  of  hideous  noises.  All 
of  the  enemy's  missiles  went  far  over  our  heads  ;  we  were  much 
nearer  to  the  Federal  artillery  than  to  our  own.  Some  of  our 
shells,  perhaps  from  defective  powder,  fell  amongst  us ;  some 
would  burst  in  mid  air,  and  the  fragments  would  hurtle  down. 
The  skirmishing  ceased  —  in  an  ocean  one  drop  more  is  naught. 

I  walked  down  the  line  of  Company  A.  Peacock  was  lying 
dead  with  his  hat  over  his  face.  The  wounded  —  those  dis- 
abled—  were  unrelieved.  The  men  were  prostrate  in  their 
pits,  powder-stained,  haggard,  battle-worn,  and  stern.  Still 
shrieked  the  shells  overhead,  and  yet  roared  the  guns  to  front 
and  rear  —  a  pandemonium  of  sight  and  sound  reserved  from 
the  foundation  of  the  world  for  the  valley  of  Gettysburg. 
The  bleeding  sun  went  out  in  smoke.  The  smell  of  burning 
powder  filled  the  land.  Before  us  and  behind  us  bursting 
caissons  added  to  the  hellish  magnificence  of  this  awful  pic- 
ture, —  in  its  background  a  school  of  theology,  and  in  its  fore- 
ground the  peaceful  city  of  the  dead. 

For  more  than  an  hour  the  hundreds  of  hostile  guns  shook 
earth  and  sky ;  then  there  was  silence  and  stillness.  But  the 
stillness  was  but  brief.  Out  from  our  rear  and  right  now 
marched  the  Confederate  infantry  on  to  destruction. 

We  of  the  skirmishers  felt  that  our  line  was  doomed.  I 
saw  men  stand,  regardless  of  exposure,  and  curse  the  day. 
For  more  than  eighteen  hours  we  had  been  near  the  Federal 
lines.     We  had  no  hope.     We  knew  that  our  line,  marching  out 


HELL  421 

for  attack,  could  not  even  reach  the  enemy.  Before  it  could 
come  within  charging  distance  it  would  be  beaten  to  pieces  by 
artillery.  The  men  looked  at  the  advancing  line  and  said  one 
to  another,  "Lee  has  made  a  mistake." 

The  line  came  on.  It  was  descending  the  slope  of  Semi- 
nary Eidge. 

The  Federal  batteries  began  to  work  upon  the  line.  Into 
the  valley  and  up  the  hill  it  came,  with  all  the  cannon  in  our 
front  and  right,  —  and  far  to  the  right,  —  pumping  death  into 
its  ranks. 

I  gave  it  up.  I  thought  of  Captain  Haskell,  and  of  his 
words  concerning  General  Lee's  inclination  to  attack.  I  was 
no  military  man;  I  knew  nothing  of  scientific  war,  but  I  was 
sure  that  time  had  knelled  the  doom  of  our  poor  line  —  con- 
demned to  attack  behind  stone  fences  the  flower  of  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac  protected  by  two  hundred  guns.  It  was  sim- 
ply insane.  It  was  not  war,  neither  was  it  magnificent ;  it  was 
too  absurd  to  be  grand. 

Great  gaps  were  made  in  the  line.  It  came  on  and  passed 
over  the  skirmishers.  The  left  of  the  line  passed  over  us  just 
beyond  the  spot  where  Rhodes  lay  dead.  I  could  see  down  our 
line.  It  was  already  in  tatters.  Writers  of  the  South  and 
of  the  North  have  all  described  Pickett's  charge  as  gallant, 
and  have  said  that  his  line  came  on  like  troops  on  dress- 
parade.  It  was  gallant  enough  —  too  gallant ;  but  there  was 
no  dress-parade.  Our  officers  and  men  on  Seminary  Ridge 
were  looking  at  Pickett's  division  from  its  rear ;  the  blue  men 
were  looking  upon  it  from  its  front;  from  neither  position 
could  the  alignment  be  seen ;  to  them  it  looked  straight  and 
fine ;  but  that  line  passed  by  me  so  that  I  looked  along  it,  and 
I  know  that  it  was  swayed  and  bent  long  before  it  fired  a  shot. 
As  it  passed  over  us,  it  was  scattered  —  many  men  thirty, 
forty,  even  fifty  yards  in  front  of  other  men.  No  shame  to 
Pickett's  men  for  this.  The  charge  should  not  be  distin- 
guished for  mere  gallantry,  but  for  something  far  superior  — 


422  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

endurance.  From  right  and  front  and  left  a  semicircle  of  fire 
converged  upon  their  ranks  and  strewed  the  ground  with  their 
dead.  For  half  a  mile  they  advanced  under  an  iron  tempest 
such  as  Confederate  troops  never  saw  elsewhere  than  at 
Gettysburg  —  a  tempest  in  which  no  army  on  earth  could  live. 

I  was  hoping  that  the  line  would  break  and  run  before  it 
came  under  the  fire  of  infantry  ;  but  it  did  not  break.  It  was 
ragged,  because  the  gaps  could  not  be  filled  as  fast  as  they 
were  made ;  but  the  f  i-agmonts  kept  on  up  the  hill,  uniting  as 
they  went. 

And  the  line  disappears  in  smoke,  which  tells  us,  as  well 
as  the  sound,  that  the  Federal  infantry  and  ours  have  at  last 
joined  their  battle.  Here  and  there  we  see  a  red  battle-flag 
violently  shaking;  the  thunder  of  the  cannon  no  more  is  heard  ; 
the  smoke  recedes,  and  our  men  —  those  that  are  left,  but  not 
the  line  —  still  go  forward. 

Pickett  has  reached  the  hostile  infantry.  On  his  left  and 
right  swarm  out  against  his  flanks  the  army  of  the  enemy, 
while  in  his  front  still  stand  the  stone  bulwarks  over  which 
but  few  of  his  men  live  to  pass. 

Yet  the  fight  still  rages.  The  Federal  skirmishers  every- 
where have  long  ago  withdrawn,  so  that  we  can  stand  and 
move  and  watch  the  struggle  for  the  graves.  In  a  narrow 
circle  on  the  hill,  where  a  few  trees  stand,  smoke  boils  up 
and  eddies.  Up  there  death  and  fate  are  working  as  they 
never  worked.  Lines  of  infantry  from  either  flank  move 
toward  the  whirlpool.     They  close  upon  the  smoke. 

Now  we  see  a  few  men  dropping  back  out  of  the  smoke 
and  running  half-bent  down  the  hill.  Their  numbers  increase. 
All  who  have  the  hardihood  to  run  try  to  escape,  but  many 
remain  and  become  prisoners. 

A  brigade  or  two  of  the  enemy  advance  from  their  works  on 
their  right  and  endeavour  to  intercept  the  fugitives.  A  brigade 
of  Confederates  advances  on  our  left,  but  stops  in  the  wheat. 
The  battle  of  Gettysburg  is  over. 


XXXIV 

FALLING    WATERS 

' '  Prepare  you,  generals  : 
The  enemy  comes  on  in  gallant  show  ; 
Their  bloody  sign  of  battle  is  hung  out, 
And  something  to  be  done  immediately." 

—  Shakespeare. 

On-  the  night  of  the  4th  the  retreat  began,  Pender's  division 
leading.  Rain  fell  in  torrents.  Rations  were  not  to  be  had. 
The  slow  retreat  continued  on  the  next  day  and  the  next.  At 
Hagerstown  we  formed  line  of  battle. 

The  sharp-shooters  were  in  front.  The  Federal  skirmishers 
advanced  against  us.     We  held  our  own,  but  lost  some  men. 

The  rain  kept  on.  We  were  in  a  field  of  wheat,  behind  rifle- 
pits  made  of  fence-rails.  We  rubbed  the  ears  of  wheat  in 
our  hands,  and  ate  the  grain  uncooked.  The  regiment  sent 
out  foraging  parties,  but  with  little  success.  There  was  great 
suffering  from  hunger. 

For  three  days  and  nights  we  were  on  the  line  at  Hagers- 
tov.Ti,  skirmishing  every  day.  Captain  Shooter  of  the  First 
now  commanded  the  battalion.  We  were  told  that  the  Poto- 
mac was  at  a  high  stage,  and  that  we  must  wait  until  a 
pontoon  bridge  could  be  laid. 

At  ten  o'clock  on  the  night  of  the  13th  the  sharp-shooters 
received  orders  to  hold  their  line  at  all  hazards  until  dawn ; 
then  to  retire.  The  division  was  withdrawing  and  depended 
upon  us  to  prevent  the  advance  of  the  enemy.  Rain  fell 
all  night.  We  were  wet  to  the  skin  and  almost  exhausted 
through  hunger,  fatigue,  and  watching. 

423 


424  WHO   GOES  THEEEV 

At  daylight  we  were  back  at  the  breastworks.  Everybody 
had  gone.  We  followed  after  the  troops.  The  rain  ceased, 
but  the  mud  was  deep ;  the  army  had  passed  over  it  before  us. 
We  marched  some  ten  miles.  After  sunrise  we  could  hear  a 
few  shots,  now  and  then,  behind  us.  We  supposed  that  the 
enemy's  advance  was  firing  on  our  stragglers  as  they  would  try 
to  get  away.  The  march  was  very  difficult,  because  of  the 
mud  and  mainly  because  of  our  exhaustion. 

We  reached  the  top  of  a  high  hill  overlooking  the  Potomac 
a  mile  away.  It  must  have  been  after  ten  o'clock.  On  the 
Virginia  hills  we  could  see  a  great  host  of  men,  and  long  lines 
of  artillery  and  wagons  —  some  filing  slowly  away  to  the  south, 
others  standing  in  well-ordered  ranks.  On  some  prominent 
hills  batteries  had  been  planted.  It  was  a  great  sight.  The 
sun  was  shining  on  this  display.  Lee's  army  had  effected  a 
crossing. 

On  the  Maryland  side  the  road  descending  was  full  of 
troops.  At  the  river  was  a  dense  mass  of  wagons,  and  brigade 
upon  brigade  with  stacked  arms,  the  division  resting  and 
waiting  for  its  turn  to  cross  ;  for  there  was  but  one  bridge, 
over  which  a  stream  of  men  was  yet  passing,  and  it  would 
take  hours  for  all  to  cross. 

We  were  halted  on  the  hill.  A  moment  was  sufiicient  for 
the  men  to  decide  that  the  halt  would  be  a  long  one.  Down 
everybody  dropped  on  the  ground,  to  rest  and  sleep. 

The  next  thing  I  knew  I  was  wide  awake,  with  rifles  crack- 
ing all  around  me.  I  sprang  to  my  feet.  Somebody,  just  in 
juy  rear,  fired,  with  his  gun  at  my  left  ear ;  for  weeks  I  was 
deaf  in  that  ear.  Men  on  horses  were  amongst  us  —  blue  men 
with  drawn  sabres  and  with  pistols  which  they  were  firing. 
Our  men  were  scattering,  not  in  flight,  but  to  deploy. 

A  horseman  was  coming  at  me  straight  —  twenty  yards  from 
me.  He  was  standing  in  his  stirrups  and  had  his  sword  uplifted. 
I  aimed  and  fired.  He  still  came  on,  but  for  a  moment  only. 
He  doubled  up  and  went  headforemost  to  the  ground. 


FALLING  WATERS  425 

The  battalion  had  deployed.  But  few,  if  any,  of  the  horse- 
men who  had  ridden  into  us  had  got  away;  but  they  were 
only  the  advance  squadron.  More  were  coming.  Our  line  was 
some  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  long,  covering  the  road. 
We  advanced.  It  would  not  do  to  allow  the  enemy  to  see,  over 
the  crest  of  the  hill,  our  compacted  troops  at  the  head  of  the 
bridge.  The  numbers  of  the  Federals  constantly  increased. 
They  outflanked  us  on  our  right.  They  dismounted  and 
deployed  as  skirmishers.  They  advanced,  and  the  fighting 
began. 

Company  A  was  in  an  open  ground  covered  with  dew- 
berry vines,  and  the  berries  were  ripe.  We  ate  dewberries 
and  loaded  and  fired.  I  never  saw  so  many  dewberries  or  any 
so  good.  Bullets  whizzed  over  us  and  amongst  us,  but  the 
men  ate  berries.  I  had  on  a  white  straw  hat  that  I  had 
swapped  for  with  one  of  the  men ;  where  he  had  got  it,  I  don't 
know.     My  hat  was  a  target.     I  took  it  off. 

The  enemy  continued  to  extend  his  line  beyond  our  right. 
From  the  division  below,  the  First  regiment  was  sent  back  to 
help  us.  The  regiment  deployed  on  our  right  and  began  firing. 
The  enemy  still  increased,  and  other  regiments  were  Sent  back 
to  us,  until  we  had  a  skirmish-line  more  than  a  mile  long,  and 
had  a  reserve  force  ready  to  strengthen  any  weak  part  of  the 
line. 

The  Federals  broke  through  our  line  at  the  left,  but  the 
line  was  reestablished.  They  got  around  our  right  and  a  few 
of  them  got  into  our  rear.  One  of  them  rode  up  to  Peagler  of 
Company  H,  an  unarmed  infirmary  man;  he  brandished  his 
sword  and  ordered  Peagler  to  surrender.  Peagler  picked  up 
a  fence-rail  and  struck  the  rider  from  his  horse. 

Company  H  of  the  First,  only  about  fifteen  men,  were  in 
a  house,  firing  from  the  windows.  Suddenly  they  saw  the 
enemy  on  both  their  flanks  and  rapidly  gaining  their  rear. 
A  rush  was  made  from  the  house,  and  the  company  barely 
escaped,  losing  a  few  men  wounded,  who,  however,  got  away. 


426  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

General  Pettigrew  was  killed.  The  fight  kept  growing.  It 
had  already  lasted  three  hours  and  threatened  to  continue. 

At  length  we  were  forced  back  by  the  constantly  increas- 
ing numbers  of  the  Federals.  As  we  reached  the  top  of 
the  hill  again,  we  could  see  that  the  bridge  was  clear.  All  the 
wagons  and  troops  were  on  the  south  side  of  the  river.  On  the 
bridge  were  only  a  few  straggling  men  running  across. 

And  now  came  our  turn.  We  retreated  down  the  hill.  At 
once  its  crest  was  occupied  by  the  Federal  skirmishers,  and  at 
once  they  began  busily  to  pojD  away  at  us.  I  ran  along,  holding 
my  white  hat  in  my  hand. 

We  reached  lower  ground,  and  our  batteries  in  Virginia  began 
to  throw  shells  over  our  heads  to  keep  back  the  enemy.  The 
battalion  flanked  to  the  right,  struck  the  bridge,  and  rushed 
headlong  across,  with  Yankee  bullets  splashing  the  water  to 
the  right  and  left;  meanwhile  our  batteries  continued  to 
throw  shells  over  our  heads,  and  Federal  guns,  now  unlinibered 
on  the  Maryland  side,  were  answering  with  spirit. 


XXXV 

AWAKENINGS 

'"Tisfar  off; 
And  rather  like  a  dream  than  an  assurance 
That  my  remembrance  warrants."  —  Shakespeare. 

With  the  passage  of  the  sharp-shooters  into  Virginia  at 
Falling  Waters,  the  campaign  was  at  an  end.  The  pontoon 
bridge  was  cut.  We  marched  a  mile  from  the  river  and 
halted ;  it  was  five  o'clock.  At  night  we  received  two  days' 
rations ;  I  ate  mine  at  one  meal. 

On  the  15th  the  division  moved  to  Bunker  Hill.  I  gave 
out.  Starvation  and  a  full  meal  had  been  too  much  for  me. 
I  suffered  greatly,  not  from  fatigue,  but  from  illness.  I 
stepped  out  of  ranks,  went  fifty  yards  into  the  thicket,  and 
lay  down  under  a  tree. 

That  the  enemy  was  following  was  likely  enough ;  I  hardly 
cared.  I  shrank  from  captivity,  but  I  thought  of  death  with- 
out fearing  it. 

My  mind  was  in  a  peculiar  attitude  toward  the  war.  We 
had  heard  of  the  surrender  of  Vicksburg.  Not  even  the 
shadow  of  demoralization  had  touched  Lee's  army  in  conse- 
quence of  Gettysburg;  but  now  men  talked  despairingly  — 
with  Vicksburg  gone  the  war  seemed  hopeless. 

Under  the  tree  was  peace.  Company  H  had  gone  on. 
Company  A  had  gone  on.  What  interest  had  they  in  me  or  I 
in  them  ?     I  had  fever. 

The  sounds  of  the  troops  marching  on  the  road  reached  me 
in  the  thicket.  A  few  moments  ago  I  was  marching  on  the 
road.     I  was  one  of  fifty  thousand ;  they  have  gone  on. 

427 


428  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

Here,  under  this  tree,  I  am  one.  But  what  one  ?  I  came 
I  know  not  whence;  I  go  I  know  not  whither.  Let  me  go, 
What  matter  where  ?     My  Captain  has  gone. 

Perhaps  I  wander  in  mind.     I  have  fever. 

At  one  time  I  think  I  am  going  to  die,  and  I  long  for  death. 
The  life  I  live  is  too  difficult. 

And  the  South  is  hopeless.  Better  death  than  subjection. 
The  Captain  has  not  died  too  soon. 

What  a  strong,  noble,  far-seeing  man !  I  shall  never  for- 
get him.  I  shall  never  see  his  like.  I  envy  him.  He 
has  resolved  all  doubt:  I  am  still  enchained  to  a  fate  that 
drags  me  on  and  on  into  .  .  .  into  what  ?  What  does  the 
Captain  think  now  ?  Does  he  see  me  lying  here  ?  Can  he 
put  thoughts  into  my  mind  ?  Can  he  tell  me  who  I  am  ? 
What  does  he  think  now  of  slavery  ?  of  State  rights  ?  of  war  ? 

He  is  at  peace ;  he  knows  that  peace  is  better.  Yes ;  peace 
is  better.     He  is  at  peace.     Would  I  also  were  at  peace. 

I  slept,  and  when  I  awoke  my  strength  had  returned.  I 
crept  to  the  road,  fearing  to  see  Federal  troops.  Neither 
Confederate  nor  Federal  was  in  sight.  I  tramped  steadily 
southward  and  caught  up  at  Bunker  Hill. 

******  * 

By  the  24th  of  July  we  had  crossed  the  Blue  Eidge  and 
were  approaching  Culpeper. 

During  the  mouths  of  August  and  September  we  were  in 
camp  near  Orange  Court-House. 

My  distaste  for  the  service  became  excessive,  unaccountably, 
I  should  have  thought,  but  for  the  fact  that  my  interest  in 
life  had  so  greatly  suffered  because  of  the  Captain's  death. 

My  friend  was  gone.  I  wished  for  nothing  definite.  I  had 
no  purpose.  To  fight  for  the  South  was  my  duty,  and  I  felt 
it,  but  I  had  no  relish  for  fighting.     Fighting  was  absurd. 

The  Captain  had  said,  on  the  last  night  of  his  life,  that  he 
imagined  General  Lee  and  perhaps  General  McClellan  felt 
great  reluctance  in   giving   orders   that  would   result  in  the 


AWAKENINGS  429 

death  of  Americans  at  the  hands  of  Americans,  I  remem- 
bered that  at  Gettysburg,  in  the  act'of  pulling  the  trigger,  I 
had  found  no  hatred  in  me  toward  the  man  I  was  trying  to 
kill.  I  wondered  if  the  men  generally  were  without  hate.  I 
believed  they  were ;  there  might  be  exceptions. 

We  had  lost  General  Pender  at  Gettysburg.  We  were  now 
Wilcox's  division.     We  had  camp  guard  and  picket  duty. 

Since  the  Captain's  death  the  battalion  of  sharp-shooters  had 
been  dissolved,  and  I  was  back  in  Company  H.  The  life  was 
monotonous.  Some  conscripts  were  received  into  each  com- 
pany. Many  of  the  old  men  would  never  return  to  us.  Some 
were  lying  with  two  inches  of  earth  above  their  breasts ;  some 
were  in  the  distant  South  on  crutches  they  must  always  use. 

The  spirit  of  the  regiment  was  unbroken.  The  men  were 
serious.  Captain  Barnwell  read  prayers  at  night  in  the  com- 
pany. 

I  thought  much,  but  disconnectedly,  and  was  given  to  soli- 
tude. I  made  an  object  of  myself.  My  condition  appealed  to 
my  sympathy.  Where  had  there  ever  been  such  an  experience  ? 
I  thought  of  myself  as  Berwick,  and  pitied  him.  I  talked  to 
him,  mentally,  calling  him  you. 

Dr.  Frost  was  beyond  my  reach.  I  wanted  to  talk  to  him. 
He  had  been  promoted,  and  was  elsewhere. 

At  night  I  had  dreams,  and  they  were  strange  dreams.  For 
many  successive  nights  I  could  see  myself,  and  always  I 
thought  of  the  "  me  "  that  I  saw  as  a  different  person  from  the 
"  me  "  that  saw. 

My  health  suffered  greatly,  but  I  did  not  report  to  the 
surgeon. 

Somehow  I  began  to  feel  for  my  unknown  friends.  They 
had  long  ago  given  me  up  for  dead. 

Perhaps,  however,  some  were  still  hoping  against  certainty. 
My  mind  was  filling  with  fancies  concerning  them  —  concern- 
ing her.  How  I  ever  began  to  think  of  such  a  possibility  I 
could  not  know. 


430  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

My  fancies  embraced  everything.  My  family  might  be  rich 
and  powerful  and  intelligent ;  it  might  be  humble,  even  base ; 
the  strong  likelihood  was  that  it  was  neither,  but  was  of 
medium  worth. 

My  fancy — it  began  in  a  dream  —  pictured  the  face  of  a 
woman,  young  and  sweet,  weeping  for  me.  I  wept  for  her 
and  for  myself.     Who  was  she  ?     Was  she  all  fancy  ? 

Since  I  had  been  in  Company  H,  I  had  never  spoken  to  a 
woman  except  the  nurses  in  the  hospitals.  I  had  seen  many 
women  in  Richmond  and  elsewhere.  No  face  of  my  recollec- 
tion fitted  with  the  face  of  my  dream.  None  seemed  its  equal 
in  sweetness  and  dignity. 

I  had  written  love  letters  at  the  dictation  of  one  or  two  of 
the  men.  I  had  read  love  stories.  I  felt  as  the  men  had 
seemed  to  feel,  and  as  the  lovers  in  the  stories  had  seemed  to 
feel. 

No  one  knew,  since  the  Captain's  death,  even  the  short  his- 
tory of  myself  that  I  knew.  I  grew  morose.  The  men  avoided 
me,  all  but  one  —  Jerry  Butler.  Somehow  I  found  myself 
messing  with  him.  He  was  a  great  forager,  and  kept  us  both 
in  food.  The  rations  were  almost  regular,  but  the  fat  bacon 
and  mouldy  meal  turned  my  stomach.  The  other  men  were  in 
good  health,  and  ate  heartily  of  the  coarse  food  given  them. 
Butler  had  bacon  and  meal  to  sell. 

The  men  wondered  what  was  the  matter  with  me.  Their 
wonder  did  not  exceed  my  own.  Butler  invited  my  confidence, 
but  I  could  not  decide  to  say  a  word  :  one  word  would  have 
made  it  necessary  to  tell  him  all  I  knew.  He  would  have 
thought  me  insane. 

I  did  my  duty  mechanically,  serving  on  camp  guard  and  on 
picket  regularly,  but  feeling  interest  in  nothing  beyond  my 
own  inner  self. 

At  times  the  battle  of  Manassas  and  the  spot  in  the  forest 
would  recur  to  me  with  great  vividness  and  power.  Where 
and  what  was  my  original  regiment  ?     I  pondered  over  the 


AWAKENINGS  431 

puzzle,  and  I  had  much  time  in  which  to  ponder.  I  remem- 
bered that  Dr.  Frost  had  told  me  that  if  ever  I  got  the  smallest 
clew  to  my  past,  I  must  determine  then  and  there  to  never  let 
it  go. 

Sometimes  instants  of  seeming  recollection  would  flash  by 
and  be  gone  before  I  could  define  them.  They  left  no  result 
but  doubt  —  sometimes  fear.  Doubts  of  the  righteousness  of 
war  beset  me  —  not  of  this  war,  but  war.  I  had  a  vague 
notion  that  in  some  hazy  past  I  had  listened  to  strong  reasons 
against  war.  Were  they  from  the  Captain  ?  No  ;  he  had 
been  against  war,  but  he  had  fought  for  the  South  with  relish 
—  they  did  not  come  from  him.  None  the  less  —  perhaps  I 
ought  to  say  therefore  —  did  they  more  strongly  impress  me, 
for  I  indistinctly  knew  that  they  came  from  some  one  who  not 
only  gave  precept  but  also  lived  example. 

Who  was  he  ?     I  might  not  hope  to  know. 

Added  to  these  doubts  concerning  war,  there  were  in  my 
mind  at  times  strong  desires  for  a  better  life  —  a  life  more 
mental.  The  men  were  good  men  —  serious,  religious  men. 
Nothing  could  be  said  against  them ;  but  I  felt  that  I  was 
not  entirely  of  them,  that  tliey  had  little  thought  beyond 
their  personal  duties,  which  they  were  willing  always  to  do 
provided  their  officers  clearly  prescribed  them,  and  their  per- 
sonal attachments,  in  which  I  could  have  no  part.  Of  course 
there  were  exceptions. 

I  felt  in  some  way  that  though  the  men  avoided  me,  they 
yet  had  a  certain  respect  for  me  —  for  my  evident  suffering,  I 
supposed.  Yet  an  incident  occurred  which  showed  me  that 
their  respect  was  not  mere  pity.  The  death  of  our  Captain  had 
left  a  vacancy  in  Company  H.  A  lieutenant  was  to  be  elected  by 
the  men.  The  natural  candidate  was  our  highest  non-commis- 
sioned officer,  who  was  favoured  by  the  company's  commander. 
The  officer  in  command  did  not,  however,  use  influence  upon 
the  men  to  secure  votes.  My  preference  for  the  position  was 
Louis  Bellot,  who  had  been  dangerously  wounded  at  Manassas, 


432  WHO   GOES   THEKE  ? 

and  who,  we  heard,  would  soon  return  to  the  company.  I  took 
up  his  cause,  and,  without  his  knowledge,  secured  enough  votes 
to  elect  him. 

On  the  8th  of  October  we  advanced  to  the  river.  For  me 
it  was  a  miserable  march.  My  mind  was  in  torture,  and  my 
strength  was  failing.  Doubts  of  the  righteousness  of  war  had 
changed  to  doubts  of  this  war.  It  was  not  reason  that  caused 
these  doubts.  Reason  told  me  that  the  invaders  should  be 
driven  back.  The  South  had  not  been  guilty  of  plunging  the 
two  countries  into  war ;  the  South  had  tried  to  avert  war.  The 
only  serious  question  which  my  mind  could  raise  upon  the 
conduct  of  the  South  was:  Had  we  sufficiently  tried  to  avert 
war  ?  Had  we  done  all  that  we  could  ?  I  did  not  know,  and 
I  doubted. 

As  we  advanced,  I  looked  upon  long  lines  of  infantry  and 
cannon  marching  on  to  battle,  and  I  thought  of  all  this  im- 
mense preparation  for  wholesale  slaughter  of  our  own  country- 
men with  horror  in  my  heart.  Why  could  not  this  war  have 
been  avoided  ?  I  did  not  know,  but  I  felt  that  an  overwhelm- 
ing responsibility  attached  somewhere,  for  it  was  not  likely 
that  all  possibilities  of  peace  had  been  exhausted  by  our 
people. 

As  to  the  Yankees,  I  did  not  then  think  of  them.  Their 
crimes  and  their  responsibilities  were  their  own.  I  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  them ;  but  I  was  part  of  the  South,  and  the 
Southern  cause  was  mine,  and  upon  me  also  weighed  the  crime 
of  unjust  war  if  it  were  unjust  upon  our  side. 

The  thought  of  the  Captain  gave  me  great  relief.  He  had 
shown  me  the  cause  of  the  South ;  he  had  died  for  it ;  it  could 
not  be  wrong.  I  looked  in  the  faces  of  the  officers  and  men 
around  me  and  read  patient  endurance  for  the  right.  I  was 
comforted.  I  laughed  at  myself  and  said,  Berwick,  you  are 
getting  morbid ;  you  are  bilious ;  go  to  the  doctor  and  get 
well  of  your  fancies. 


AWAKENINGS  .  433 

Then  the  thought  of  the  Northern  cause  came  to  me.  Do 
not  the  Federal  sokliers  also  think  their  cause  just  ?  If  not, 
what  sort  of  men  are  they  ?  They  must  believe  they  are  right. 
And  one  side  or  the  other  must  be  wrong.  Which  is  it  ?  They 
are  millions,  and  we  are  millions.  Millions  of  men  are  joined 
together  to  perpetrate  wrong  while  believing  that  they  are 
right  ?     Can  such  a  condition  be  ? 

Even  supposing  that  most  men  are  led  in  their  beliefs  by 
other  men  in  whose  judgment  they  have  confidence,  are  the 
leaders  of  either  side  impure  ? 

No;  if  they  are  wrong,  they  are  not  wrong  intentionally. 
Men  may  differ  conscientiously  upon  state  policy,  even  upon 
ethics. 

Then  must  I  conclude  that  the  North,  believing  itself  right, 
is  wrong  in  warring  upon  the  South  ?  What  is  the  North 
fighting  for?  For  union  and  for  abolition  of  slavery;  bat 
primarily  for  union. 

And  is  union  wrong  ?     Not  necessarily  wrong. 

What  is  the  South  fighting  for  ?  For  State  rights  and  for 
slavery;  but  principally  for  State  rights. 

And  is  the  doctrine  of  State  rights  wrong  ?  Not  necessarily 
wrong. 

Then,  may  both  North  and  South  be  right  ? 

The  question  startled  me.  I  had  heard  that  idea  before. 
Where  ?  Not  in  the  army,  I  was  certain.  I  tried  hard  to 
remember,  but  had  to  confess  failure.  The  result  of  my 
thought  was  only  the  suggestion  that  both  of  two  seemingly 
opposite  thoughts  might  possibly  be  true. 

On  that  night  I  dreamed  of  my  childhood.  My  dream  took 
me  to  a  city,  where  I  was  at  school  under  a  teacher  who  was 
my  friend,  and  at  whose  house  I  now  saw  him.  The  man's 
face  was  so  impressed  upon  my  mind  that  when  I  awoke  I 
retained  his  features.  All  day  of  the  9th,  while  we  were  cross- 
ing the  Rapidan  and  continuing  our  march  through  Madison 
Court-House  and  on  through  Culpeper,  I  thought  of  the  face  of 
2f 


434  WHO   GOES   THEEE? 

my  dream.  I  thought  of  little  else.  Food  was  repugnant.  I 
had  fever,  and  was  full  of  fancies.  I  was  surprised  by  the 
thought  that  I  had  twice  already  been  ill  in  the  army.  Once 
was  at  the  time  of  the  battle  of  Fredericksburg ;  but  when  and 
where  was  the  other  ?  I  did  not  know,  yet  I  was  sure  that  I 
had  been  sick  in  the  army  before  I  joined  Captain  Haskell's 
company,  and  before  I  ever  saw  Dr.  Frost. 

Long  did  I  wonder  over  this,  and  not  entirely  without  result. 
Suddenly  I  connected  the  face  of  my  dream  with  my  forgotten 
illness.  But  that  Avas  all.  My  old  tutor  was  a  doctor  and  had 
attended  me.     I  felt  sure  of  so  much. 

Then  I  wondered  if  I  could  by  any  means  find  the  Doctor's 
name.  Some  name  must  be  connected  with  the  title.  That 
he  was  Dr.  Some-one  I  had  no  doubt.  I  tried  to  make  Dr. 
Frost's  face  fit  the  face  of  my  dream,  but  it  would  not  fit. 
Besides,  I  knew  that  Dr.  Frost  had  never  been  my  teacher. 

We  had  gone  into  bivouac  about  one  o'clock,  some  two  miles 
north  of  Madison  Court-House.  This  advance  was  over  ground 
that  was  not  unfamiliar  to  me.  The  mountains  in  the  distance 
and  the  hills  near  by,  the  rivers  and  the  roads,  the  villages  and 
the  general  aspect  of  this  farming  country,  had  been  impressed 
upon  my  mind  first  when  alone  I  hurried  forward  to  join  Jack- 
son's command  on  its  famous  march  around  Pope ;  and,  later, 
when  we  had  returned  from  the  Shenandoah  Valley  after  Sharps- 
burg,  and  more  recv^ntly  still,  on  our  retreat  from  Pennsylvania. 

Wliat  General  Lee's  purposes  were  now,  caused  much  specu- 
lation in  the  camp.  It  was  evident  that,  if  the  bulk  of  the 
army  had  not  as  yet  uncovered  Richmond,  our  part  of  it  was 
very  far  to  the  left.  We  might  be  advancing  to  the  Valley,  or 
we  might  be  trying  to  get  to  Meade's  rear,  just  as  Jackson  had 
moved  around  Pope  in  sixty-two ;  another  day  might  show. 
The  most  of  the  men  believed  that  we  were  on  a  flank  march 
similar  to  Jackson's,  and  some  of  them  went  so  far  as  to  say 
that  both  Ewell's  and  Hill's  corps  were  now  near  Madison 
Court-House, 


AWAKENINGS  435 

I  felt  but  little  interest  iu  the  talk  of  the  men.  My  mind 
■was  upon  myself.  I  gave  my  comrades  no  encouragement  to 
speak  with  me,  but  lay  apart,  moody  and  feverish.  Occasion- 
ally my  thought,  it  is  true,  reverted  to  the  situation  of  the 
army,  but  only  for  a  moment.  Something  was  about  to  be 
done ;  but  if  I  could  have  controlled  events,  I  would  not  have 
known  what  to  choose.  One  thing,  however,  began  to  loom 
clear  through  the  dim  future :  if  we  were  working  to  get  to 
Meade's  rear,  that  general  was  in  far  greater  danger  than  he 
had  been  at  Gettysburg.  With  Lee  at  Manassas  Junction, 
between  Meade  and  Washington,  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
would  yield  from  starvation,  or  fight  at  utter  disadvantage ; 
and  there  was  no  army  to  help  near  by,  as  McClellan's  at 
Alexandria  in  sixty-two. 

The  night  brought  no  movement. 


XXXVI 


THE    ALPHABET 


"  I  stoop  not  to  despair  ; 
For  1  have  battled  with  mine  agony, 
And  made  me  wings  wherewith  to  overfly 
The  narrow  circus  of  my  dungeon  wall."  — Btron. 

On  the  next  day,  the  10th,  we  marched  through  Culpeper. 
I  recognized  the  place ;  I  had  straggled  through  it  on  the  road 
to  Gettysburg.     Again  we  went  into  bivouac  early. 

That  afternoon  I  again  thought  of  Dr.  Frost's  advice  to  hold 
to  any  clew  I  should  ever  get  and  work  it  out;  I  had  a  clew :  I 
wondered  how  I  could  make  a  step  toward  an  end. 

To  recover  a  lost  name  seemed  difficult.  The  doctor  had 
said  will  was  required.  My  will  was  good.  I  began  with  the 
purpose  of  thinking  all  names  that  I  could  recall.  My  list  was 
limited.  Naturally  my  mind  went  over  the  roll  of  Company  H, 
which,  from  having  heard  so  often,  I  knew  by  heart.  Adams, 
BeU,  Bellot,  and  so  on ;  the  work  brought  an  idea.  I  remem- 
bered hearing  some  one  say  that  a  forgotten  name  might  be 
recovered  with  the  systematic  use  of  the  alphabet.  I  won- 
dered why  I  had  not  thought  at  once  of  this.  I  felt  a  great 
sense  of  relief.     I  now  had  a  purpose  and  a  plan. 

At  once  I  began  to  go  through  the  A-b's.  The  first  name  I 
could  get  was  Abbey ;  the  next,  Abbott,  and  so  on,  through  all 
names  built  upon  the  letter  A.  I  knew  nobody  by  such  names. 
My  lost  name  might  be  one  of  these,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  be, 
and  I  had  nothing  to  rely  upon  except  the  hope  that  the  real 
name,  when  found,  would  kindle  at  its  touch  a  spark  in  my 
memory.     Finally  all  the  A's  were  exhausted  —  nothing. 

436 


THE  ALPHABET  437 

Then  I  took  up  regularly  and  patiently  the  B's.  They 
resulted  in  nothing.  I  tried  C,  both  hard  and  soft,  think- 
ing intently  whether  the  sound  awoke  any  response  in  my 
brain. 

I  abandoned  the  soft  C,  but  hard  C  did  not  sound  impossi- 
ble ;  I  stored  it  up  for  future  examination. 

Then  I  went  through  D  and  E,  and  so  on  down  to  G,  which 
I  separated  into  two  sounds,  as  I  had  already  done  with  C, 
soft  and  hard.  This  examination  resulted  in  my  putting 
hard  G  alongside  of  hard  C. 

H,  I,  and  J  were  examined  with  like  result  —  nothing. 

The  K  was  at  once  given  a  place  with  the  preferred  letters. 

L,  M,  N,  0  were  speedily  rejected. 

At  P  I  halted  long,  and  at  last  decided  to  hold  it  in  reserve, 
but  not  to  give  it  equal  rank  with  the  others. 

Q  gave  me  little  trouble.  I  ran  dovsm  all  possible  names  in 
Q-u,  and  rejected  all. 

The  remainder  of  the  letters  were  examined  and  discarded. 

In  order  of  seniority  I  now  had  the  following  initial  let- 
ters :  C  hard,  G  hard,  and  K,  with  P  a  possibility. 

It  was  now  very  late,  but  I  could  not  sleep.  My  mind  was 
active,  though  I  found  to  my  surprise  that  it  was  more  nearly 
calm  than  it  had  been  for  days.  I  knew  that  I  ought  to  sleep, 
but  I  seemed  on  track  of  discovery.  It  had  taken  me  hours 
of  unremitting  labour  to  get  where  I  was,  —  monotonous  but 
interesting  labour  —  and  it  would  likely  take  me  hours  more 
to  advance  a  single  step  farther. 

A  sudden  idea  presented  itself.  What  if  the  name  was  a 
very  unusual  name,  one,  in  fact,  that  I  had  never  heard,  or 
seen  written,  except  as  the  name  of  this  Doctor  ?  This  thought 
included  other  thoughts  —  one  was  the  idea  of  a  written  name. 
I  had  been  following  but  one  line  of  approach,  while  there 
were  two,  —  sound  and  form.  I  had  not  considered  the  writ- 
ten approach,  but  now  I  saw  the  importance  of  that  process. 
Another  thought  was,  whether  it  would  help  me  for  the  name 


438  WHO   GOES   THEKE? 

to  be  not  merely  unusual,  but  entirely  unknown.  I  could  not 
decide  this  question.  I  saw  reasons  for  and  against.  If  it 
was  an  utterly  unknown  name,  except  as  applied  to  the  Doctor, 
I  might  never  recover  it ;  I  might  continue  to  roll  names  and 
names  through  my  brain  for  years  without  result,  if  my  brain 
could  bear  such  thought  for  so  long.  1  pictured  in  fancy  an 
old  man  who  had  forgotten  in  time  his  own  name,  and  had 
accepted  another,  wasting,  and  having  wasted,  the  years  of 
his  life  in  hunting  a  word  impossible  and  valueless.  But  I 
fought  this  fear  and  put  it  to  sleep.  The  uncommon  name 
would  cause  me  to  reject  all  common  names,  perhaps  at  first 
presentation ;  my  attention  would  be  concentrated  on  peculiar 
sounds  and  forms.  If  ray  mind  were  now  in  condition  to 
respond  to  the  name,  I  might  get  it  very  soon. 

In  debating  this  point,  I  suppose  that  I  lost  sight  of  my 
objective,  for  I  sank  to  sleep. 

At  daylight  I  was  awake.  My  mind  held  fast  the  results 
of  the  night's  work.     I  wrote  as  follows :  — 

e   G  K p 

Before  we  marched  I  had  arranged  in  groups  the  names  that 
impressed  me.     I  had  0  without  any  following. 

Eor  G,  I  had  Gayle,  or  Oail. 

For  K,  Kame,  Kames,  Kean,  Key,  Kinney,  Knight. 

Eor  P,  only  Payve. 

We  marched.  My  head  was  full  of  my  list  of  names.  I 
knew  them  without  looking  at  what  I  had  written. 

All  at  once  I  dropped  the  C.  I  had  failed  to  add  to  the  bare 
initial  —  nothing  in  my  thought  could  follow  that  C. 

Why  had  I  held  the  C  so  long  ?  There  must  be  some  rea- 
son. What  was  its  peculiarity  ?  The  question  was  to  be 
solved  before  I  would  leave  it.  It  did  not  take  long.  I 
decided  that  I  had  been  attracted  to  it  simply  because  its 
sound  was  identical  with  K.  Then  K  loomed  up  large  in  my 
mind  and  took  enormous  precedence. 


THE  ALPHABET  439 

The  name  Payne  was  given  up. 

But  another,  or  rather  similar,  question  arose  in  regard  to 
Payne.  If  K  was  so  prominent,  why  had  Payne  influenced 
me  ?  It  took  me  an  hour  to  find  the  reason,  but  I  found  it, 
for  I  had  determined  to  find  it.  It  was  simple,  after  all  —  the 
attraction  lay  in  the  letters  a-y-n-e.  At  once  I  added  to  my 
K's  the  name  Kayne,  although  the  name  evoked  no  interest. 
Thinking  of  this  name,  I  saw  that  Kane  was  much  easier  and 
added  it  to  my  list,  wondering  why  I  had  not  thought  of  it 
before. 

The  process  of  exclusion  continued.  Why  Kinney  ?  And 
why  Knight?  The  peculiarity  in  Kinney  seemed  to  be  the 
two  syllables  ;  I  did  not  drop  the  name,  but  tried  to  sound  each 
of  my  others  as  two  syllables. 

"  What's  that  you  say,  Jones  ?  " 

It  was  Butler,  marching  by  my  side,  that  asked  the  question. 

I  stammered  some  reply.  I  had  been  saying  aloud,  "  Gay-le, 
Ka-me,  Ka-mes,  Kay-me." 

The  march  continued.  I  knew  not  whether  we  were  passing 
through  woods  or  fields.  My  head  was  bent;  my  eyes  looked 
on  the  ground,  but  saw  it  not.  My  mouth  was  shut,  but  words 
rolled  their  sounds  through  my  ears  —  monotonous  sounds 
with  but  one  or  two  consonants  and  one  or  two  vowels. 

Suddenly  association  asserted  itself.  I  thought  of  Captain 
Haskell's  quotation  from  some  Persian  poet;  what  was  the 
poet's  name  ?  I  soon  had  it — Khayyam — pronounced  Ki-yam. 
I  added  Khayyam  and  Kiyam  to  my  list.     We  marched  on. 

Why  Knight  ?  I  did  not  know.  My  work  seemed  to  revolve 
about  K-h.  I  felt  greatly  encouraged  with  Khayyam,  —  pro- 
nounced Ki-yam,  —  which  had  the  K  sound,  and  in  form  had 
the  h.  But  was  there  nothing  more  in  Knight  ?  Nothing 
except  the  ultimate  t  and  the  long  vowel,  and  the  vowel  I  had 
also  in  Ki-yam ;  the  lines  converged  every  way  toward  Ki,  or 
toward  K-h-a-y,  pronounced  Ki. 

Again  I  tried  repeatedly,  using  the  long  sound  of  i :  "  Gi-le, 


440  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

Ki-me,  Ki-me,  Ki-me,  Ki-me,"  and  kept  on  repeating  Ki-me, 
involuntarily  holding  to  the  unfamiliar  sound. 

For  a  long  time  I  worked  without  any  result,  and  I  became 
greatly  puzzled.  Then  a  help  came.  The  name  was  that  of 
a  doctor.  I  repeated  over  and  over,  "Doctor  Gay-le,  Doctor 
Ka-me,  Doctor  Ka-mes,  Doctor  Kay-ne,  Doctor  Gi-le,  Doctor 
Ki-me,  Doctor  Ki-mes,  Doctor  Ki-yam."  The  last  name 
sounded  nearly  right. 

The  face  of  my  dream  was  yet  easily  called  up  —  a  swarthy 
face  with  bright  black  eyes  and  a  great  brow.  I  repeated  ail 
the  words  again,  and  at  each  name  I  brought  my  will  to  bear 
and  tried  to  fit  the  face  to  the  name  :  "  Doctor  Gay-le,  they 
do  not  fit ;  Doctor  Ka-me,  they  do  not  fit ;  Doctor  Kay-ne ;  no ; 
Doctor  Gi-le ;  still  less  Doctor  Ki-me,  Doctor  Ki-me,  Doctor 
Ki-me." 

The  words  riveted  me.  They  did  not  satisfy  me,  yet  they 
dominated  all  other  words.  The  strangeness  of  the  name  did 
not  affect  me;  in  fact,  the  name  was  neither  strange  nor 
familiar;  and  just  because  the  name  did  not  sound  strange, 
I  took  courage  and  hope.  I  reasoned  that  such  a  name  ought 
to  sound  strange,  and  that  it  did  not  was  cheering.  I  was  on 
the  brink  of  something,  I  knew  not  what. 

We  stacked  arms  by  the  side  of  the  road,  and  Swell's  corps 
marched  by  on  a  road  crossing  ours  ;  it  took  so  long  to  go  by 
that  we  were  ordered  to  bivouac. 

My  brain  was  in  a  stir.  I  asked  myself  why  I  should  attach 
so  great  importance  to  the  recovery  of  one  man's  name,  and  I 
answered  that  this  one  name  was  the  clew  to  my  past  life,  and 
was  the  beginning  of  my  future  life;  the  recovery  of  one 
name  would  mean  all  recovery ;  I  had  resolved  to  never  aban- 
don the  pursuit  of  this  name,  and  I  felt  convinced  that  I  should 
find  it,  and  soon.  What  was  to  result  I  would  risk ;  months 
before,  I  had  not  had  the  courage  to  wish  to  know  my  past, 
but  now  I  would  welcome  change.  I  was  wretched,  alone  in 
the  world,  tired  of  life ;  I  would  hazard  the  venture.     Then, 


THE   ALPHABET  441 

too,  I  knew  that  if  my  former  condition  should  prove  unfortu- 
nate or  shameful,  I  still  had  the  chance  to  escape  it — by  being 
silent,  if  not  in  any  other  way.  Nothing  could  be  much  worse 
than  my  present  state. 

That  afternoon  and  night  we  were  on  picket,  having  been 
thrown  forward  a  mile  from  the  bivouac  of  the  division.  There 
was  now  but  one  opinion  among  the  men,  who  were  almost 
hilarious,  —  Lee's  army  was  flanking  Meade,  that  is,  Ewell 
and  Hill,  for  Longstreet  had  been  sent  to  Georgia  with  his 
corps.  But  why  were  we  making  such  short  marches  ?  Sev- 
eral reasons  were  advanced  for  this.  Wilson  said  we  were 
getting  as  near  as  possible  first,  "  taking  a  running  start,"  to 
use  his  words.  Youmans  thought  that  General  Lee  wanted 
to  save  the  army  from  straggling  before  the  day  of  battle. 
Mackay  thought  Ewell  would  make  the  long  march,  and  that 
we  must  wait  on  his  movement.  Wilson  said  that  could  not 
be  so,  as  Ewell  had  marched  to  our  right. 

iSTobody  had  any  other  belief  than  that  we  were  getting 
around  Meade.  We  were  now  almost  at  the  very  spot,  within 
a  few  miles  of  it,  from  which  Jackson's  rapid  march  to  Pope's 
rear  had  begun,  while  Meade  now  occupied  Pope's  former 
position.  Could  General  Lee  hope  that  Meade,  with  Pope's 
example  staring  him  in  the  face,  would  allow  himself  to  be 
entrapped  ?     This  question  was  discussed  by  the  men. 

Mackay  thought  that  the  movement  of  our  army  through 
the  Valley  last  June,  when  we  went  into  Pennsylvania,  would 
be  the  first  thing  Meade  would  recall. 

Wilson  answered  this  by  saying  that  the  season  was  too  far 
advanced  for  Meade  to  fear  so  great  a  movement ;  still,  Wil- 
son thought  that  General  Meade  would  hardly  suppose  that 
Lee  would  try  to  effect  the  very  thing  he  had  once  succeeded 
in ;  besides,  he  said,  every  general  must  provide  against  every 
contingency,  but  it  is  clearly  impossible  to  do  so,  and  in 
neglecting  some  things  for  others,  he  runs  his  risks  and  takes 
his  chances.     Meade  would  not  retreat  until  he  knew  that  the 


442  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

flank  movement  was  in  progress ;  to  retreat  in  fear  of  having 
to  retreat  would  be  nonsense;  and  if  Meade  waited  only  a  few 
hours  too  long,  it  would  be  all  up  with  him ;  and  that  if  he 
started  too  early,  Lee  might  change  his  tactics  and  follow  the 
retreat. 

On  the  picket-line  my  search  was  kept  up.  We  were  near 
the  North  Eork  of  the  Eappahannock.  No  enemy  was  on  our 
side  of  the  river,  at  least  in  our  front.  Before  nightfall  we 
had  no  vedettes,  for  we  overlooked  the  river,  and  every  man 
was  a  vedette,  as  it  were.  I  lay  in  the  line,  trying  to  take  the 
first  step  leading  to  the  reconstruction  of  my  life. 

"  Doctor  Ki-me,  Doctor  Ki-me,  Doctor  Ki-me." 

The  words  clung  to  me  obstinately.  Every  other  name  had 
been  abandoned,  I  asked  not  why;  involuntarily  all  words 
with  weaker  power  to  hold  me  had  been  dropped.  Yet 
Ki-me,  strong  as  it  was,  was  imperfect.  It  did  not  seem 
wrong,  but  deficient  rather;  something  was  needed  to  com- 
plete it  —  what  was  that  something  ? 

Evening  was  drawing  on.  Again  I  thought  of  Khayyam, 
and  I  wondered  why.  I  vexed  my  brain  to  know  why.  Was 
it  because  Khayyam  was  a  poet  ?  No ;  that  could  be  no  rea- 
son. Was  it  because  he  was  a  Persian  ?  I  could  see  no  con- 
nection there.  Was  it  because  of  the  peculiar  spelling  of  the 
name  ?  It  might  be.  What  was  the  peculiarity  ?  One  of 
form,  hot  sound.  I  must  think  again  of  the  written  or  printed 
name,  not  the  sound  only  of  the  word. 

Then  I  tried  "  Doctor  Khay-me,"  but  failed. 

I  knew  that  I  had  said  "  Ki-me,"  and  had  not  thought 
"  Khay-me." 

By  an  effort  that  made  my  head  ache,  I  said  "  Doctor  Ki-me," 
and  simultaneously  reproduced  "  Doctor  Khay-me  "  with  letters 
before  my  brain.     It  would  not  do. 

Yet,  though  this  double  process  had  failed,  I  was  not  dis- 
couraged. I  thought  of  no  other  name.  Everything  else  had 
been  definitely  abandoned.     Without  reasoning  upon  it  I  knew 


THE   ALPHABET  443 

that  tlie  name  was  right,  and  I  knew,  as  if  by  intuition,  how 
to  proceed  to  a  conclusion.  I  tried  again,  and  knew  before- 
hand that  I  should  succeed. 

This  last  time  —  for,  as  I  say,  I  knew  it  would  be  the  last  — 
I  did  three  things. 

There  was  yet  light.  I  was  lying  in  my  place  in  the  line, 
on  top  of  the  hill,  a  man  five  paces  from  me  on  either  side.  I 
wrote  '-Doctor  Khayme."  I  held  the  words  before  my  eyes;  I 
called  the  face  of  my  dream  before  me;  I  said  to  the  face, 
"Doctor  Ki-me." 


XXXVII 


A    DOUBLE 


"  One  of  these  men  is  genius  to  the  other ; 
And  so  of  these :  which  is  the  natural  man, 
And  which  the  spirit  ?     Who  deciphers  them  ?  " 

—  Shakespeare. 

The  Doctor  was  before  me.  I  saw  a  woman  by  bis  side. 
She  was  bis  daugbter.     I  knew  her  name  —  Lydia. 

Wbere  were  tbey  now  ?  Wbere  were  tbey  ever  ?  Her  face 
was  full  of  sweetness  and  dignity  —  yes,  and  care.  It  would 
bave  been  tbe  face  of  my  fancy,  but  for  tbe  look  of  care. 

Unutterable  yearning  came  upon  me.  I  could  not  see  tbe 
trees  on  tbe  bank  of  tbe  river. 

For  an  instant  I  bad  remained  witbout  motion,  witbout 
breatb.     Now  I  felt  tbat  I  must  move  or  die. 

I  rose  and  began  to  stamp  my  feet,  wbicb  seemed  asleep. 
Peculiar  physical  sensations  sbot  tbrougb  my  limbs.  I  felt 
drunk,  and  leaned  on  my  rifle.  My  bands  were  one  upon  tbe 
otber  upon  tbe  muzzle,  my  cbin  resting  on  my  bands,  my  eyes 
to  tbe  north  star,  seeing  nothing. 

Nothing  ?  Yes ;  beyond  tbat  nothing  I  saw  a  vision  —  a 
vision  of  paradise. 

The  vision  changed.  I  saw  two  men  in  gray  running  across 
a  bare  hill ;  a  shell  burst  over  their  heads ;  one  threw  up  his 
hands  violently,  and  fell.     Tbe  picture  vanished. 

Another  picture  was  before  me.  Tbe  man  —  not  the  one 
who  had  fallen  —  was  making  his  painful  way  alone  in  tbe 
night ;  he  went  on  and  on  until  he  was  swallowed  by  the  dark- 
ness. 

444 


A   DOUBLE  445 

Again  he  appeared  to  me.  He  was  sitting  in  a  tent ;  an  offi- 
cer in  blue  uniform  was  showing  him  a  map.  I  could  see  the 
face  of  neither  officer  nor  man ;  both  were  in  blue. 

Farther  back  into  the  past,  seemingly,  this  man  was  pushed. 
I  saw  him  standing  on  a  shore,  with  Dr.  Khayme  and  Lydia. 
I  saw  him  sick  in  a  tent,  and  Dr.  Khayme  by  him  —  yes,  and 
Lydia. 

Still  further  the  scene  shifts  back.  I  see  the  man  in  blue 
helping  another  man  to  walk.  They  go  down  into  a  wood  and 
hide  themselves  in  a  secret  place.  I  can  see  the  spot ;  I  know 
it;  it  is  the  place  I  saw  at  Manassas.  The  man  helps  his 
companion.     The  man  breaks  his  gun.      The  two  go  away. 

So,  after  all,  that  gun  at  Manassas  had  never  been  mine ;  it 
had  belonged  to  this  man. 

Who  was  this  man  ? 

A  soldier,  evidently. 

What  was  his  name  ? 

I  did  not  know. 

Why  did  he  sometimes  wear  a  blue  uniform  ? 

He  must  be  a  Confederate  spy ;  of  course  he  is  a  Confeder- 
ate spy. 

]My  memory  refused  to  abandon  this  man.  I  had  known 
that  I  should  recover  the  Doctor,  and  I  had  supposed  that  the 
Doctor's  name  would  be  the  key  to  unlock  all  the  past,  so  that 
my  memory  would  be  suddenly  complete  and  continuous,  but 
now  I  found  the  Doctor  supplanted  by  a  strange  man  whose 
name  even  I  did  not  know,  and  who  acted  mysteriously, 
sometimes  seeming  to  be  a  Confederate  and  at  other  times  a 
Federal.  I  must  exert  my  will  and  get  rid  of  this  man :  he 
disturbs  me ;  he  is  not  real,  perhaps.  I  have  eaten  nothing ; 
I  have  fever;  perhaps  this  man  is  a  creation  of  my  fever. 
I  will  get  rid  of  him. 

I  forced  the  Doctor  to  appear.  This  time  he  was  sitting  in 
an  ambulance,  but  not  alone.  The  man  was  with  him.  I  ban- 
ished the  picture,  and  tried  again. 


446  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

Another  scene.  The  Doctor,  and  the  man,  and  Willis 
lying  hidden  in  a  straw  stack.  Ah !  Willis !  That  name  has 
come  back. 

Who  is  Willis  ? 

I  do  not  know ;  only  Willis. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  be  following  up  the  man.  Can  I  not  recall 
the  Doctor  without  this  disturbing  shape  ?  I  try  hard,  and 
the  Doctor's  face  flits  by  and  vanishes  before  I  can  even  tell 
its  outline. 

I  forced  the  Doctor  to  appear  and  reappear ;  but  he  would 
remain  an  instant  only  and  be  gone ;  instead  of  him,  this 
strange  man  persisted,  and  contrary  to  my  will. 

My  heart  misgave  me.  Had  I  been  following  a  delusion  ? 
Was  there  no  Dr.  Khayme,  after  all,  and  worse  than  that, 
no  Lydia?  Her  face  was  again  before  me.  That  look  of  care 
—  of  worse  than  care,  anxiety  —  could  it  be  mere  fancy  ?  No ; 
the  face  was  the  face  of  my  fancy,  but  the  look  was  its  own. 
I  recognized  the  face,  but  the  expression  was  not  due  to  my 
thought  or  to  my  error ;  it  was  independent  of  me. 

I  saw  the  Doctor  and  Lydia  and  Willis  and  the  Man ! 
Always  the  Man  !  Lydia,  even,  could  not  lay  the  ghost  of 
the  strange  Man  who  sometimes  wore  blue  and  sometimes 
gray. 

Night  fell.  I  was  posted  as  a  vedette  near  the  river.  There 
was  nothing  in  my  front.  The  stars  came  out  and  the  moon. 
I  thought  of  the  moon  at  Chancellorsville,  and  of  the  moon  at 
Gettysburg,  and  of  my  Captain,  lying  in  a  soldier's  grave  in 
the  far-off  land  of  the  enemy.  My  brain  was  not  clear.  I  had 
a  buzzing  in  my  ears.  I  doubted  all  reality.  My  fancy 
bounded  from  this  to  that.  My  nerves  were  all  unstrung. 
I  felt  upon  the  boundary  edge  of  heaven  and  hell.  I  knew 
enough  to  craze  me  should  I  learn  no  more.  I  watched  the 
moon ;  it  took  the  form  of  Lydia's  face ;  a  tree  became  the 
strange  Man  who  would  not  forsake  me. 

Who  was  the  Man?     He  gave  no  clew  to  his  identity.     He 


A  DOUBLE  447 

"was  mysterious.  His  acts  were  irregular.  He  must  be 
imaginary  only.  The  others  are  real.  I  know  the  Doctor  and 
his  name.  I  know  Lydia  and  her  name.  I  know  Willis  and 
his  name.  The  jMan's  face  and  name  are  unknown ;  yet  does 
he  come  unbidden  and  uppermost  and  always. 

I  made  an  effort  to  begin  at  the  end  of  my  memory  and 
go  back.  I  retraced  our  present  march  —  then  back  to  the 
Valley  —  then  Falling  Waters  —  Hagerstown  —  Gettysburg  — 
the  march  into  Pennsylvania  —  Chancellorsville  —  illness  — 
the  march  to  Fredericksburg  —  Shepherdstown  —  Sharpsburg 

—  Harper's  Ferry  —  Manassas  —  the  Spot,  with  a  broken  gun 
and  with  Willis  —  Ah !  a  new  thought,  at  which  I  stagger  for 
an  instant  —  then  my  wound  at  Gaines's  Mill  —  then  Dr. 
Frost,  and  that  is  all. 

But  I  have  a  new  discovery :  Willis  was  the  injured  man  at 
second  Manassas. 

But  no;  that  could  not  be  second  Manassas  —  it  was  first 
Manassas. 

Distinctly  Willis  was  shot  at  first  Manassas;  the  Man 
helped  Willis.     Why  should  he  help  Willis  ? 

Another  and  puzzling  thought :  How  should  I  know  Willis 

—  a  Yankee  soldier  ? 

I  know  his  face  and  I  know  his  name. 

I  must  hunt  this  thought  down. 

Is  it  that  I  have  heard  this  story  ?  Not  in  my  present 
time  of  experience.  Is  it  that  Willis  was  made  prisoner  that 
day  —  he  and  his  companion,  there  in  the  woods  ?  It  might 
have  been  so. 

But  did  I  not  see  the  strange  man  break  his  gun  and  go 
away  from  the  spot  ?     He  was  not  captured. 

Yet  I  may  have  been  hidden  in  the  woods  near  by,  watching 
these  two  men.  I  must  try  to  remember  whether  I  saw  what 
became  of  them. 

Then  I  imagine  myself  hidden  behind  a  log.  I  watch  the 
strange  man ;  he  binds  up  Willis's  leg.      I  see  him  help  the 


448  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

sergeant  —  there!  again  a  thought  —  Willis  was  a  sergeant. 
Why  could  I  not  see  that  before  —  with  the  stripes  on  his 
arm  ?  Of  course  hidden  near  by  I  could  see  that  Willis  was  a 
sergeant ;  but  how  could  I  know  that  his  name  was  Willis  ? 
Possibly  I  heard  the  strange  man  call  Jiim  Jake  —  So  !  again 
it  comes.     I  have  the  full  name. 

But  I  must  follow  them  if  I  can.  The  strange  man  helps 
Willis  to  rise,  and  puts  his  gun  under  the  sergeant's  shoulder 
for  a  crutch,  and  helps  him  on  the  other  side.  They  begin  to 
move,  but  Willis  drops  the  gun,  for  it  sinks  into  the  soft 
ground,  and  is  useless.  Then  the  strange  man  breaks  his  gun 
and  the  two  go  away.  I  see  them  moving  slowly  through  the 
woods  — but  strange !  they  are  no  farther  from  me  than  before. 
I  must  have  really  followed  them  that  day.  They  go  on  and 
get  into  the  creek,  and  climb  with  difficulty  the  farther  bank, 
and  rest.  Again  they  start — they  reach  a  stubble  field;  I  see 
some  straw  stacks ;  the  strange  man  kneels  by  one  of  the 
stacks  and  works  a  hollow  ;  he  tells  Willis  to  lie  down  ;  then 
he  speaks  to  Willis  again,  and  I  can  hear  every  word  he  says  : 
he  tells  Willis  to  go  to  sleep ;  that  he  will  try  to  get  help ; 
that  if  he  does  not  return  by  noon  to-morrow,  Willis  must 
look  out  for  himself  —  maybe  he'd  better  surrender.  And 
Willis  says,  "  God  bless  you,  Jones." 

And  now  I  have  the  man's  name,  Jones  —  a  name  common 
enough. 

I  must  hunt  this  Jones  down  —  where  have  I  known  a 
Jones  ?  But  I  must  not  now  be  diverted  by  him  ;  I  must 
stick  to  AVillis. 

Then  I  watch  Willis,  but  only  for  an  instant ;  I  feel  en- 
trained by  Jones,  and  I  go  with  Jones  even  though  I  want  to 
see  what  becomes  of  Willis. 

It  gets  dark,  yet  1  can  see  Jones.  He  goes  rapidly,  though 
I  feel  that  he  is  weary.  He  stands  on  a  narrow  road,  and  I 
hear  sounds  of  rattling  harness,  and  he  sees  a  wagon  moving. 
He  stops  and  looks  at  the  wagon ;  I  see  a  man  get  out  of  the 


A  DOUBLE  449 

wagon  —  a  very  small  man;  the  man  says,  "Is  that  you, 
Jones  ?  "  Then  I  wonder  who  this  man  is,  and  though  I  won- 
der I  yet  know  that  he  is  Dr.  Khayme.  Jones  sinks  to 
the  ground ;  the  Doctor  calls  for  brandy.  Then  the  Doctor 
and  Jones  and  the  wagon  turn  round  in  my  head  and  all  van- 
ish, and  I  find  myself  a  vedette  on  the  North  Fork  of  the 
Rappahannock,  and  pull  myself  together  with  a  jerk. 

It  had  been  vivid,  intense,  real.  I  did  not  understand  it, 
but  I  could  not  doubt  it. 

The  relief  came,  and  I  went  back  to  the  picket-line  and 
took  my  place  near  the  right  of  Company  H. 

What  next  ?  I  had  come  to  a  stop.  Jones  had  fallen  to 
the  ground,  and  that  was  as  far  as  I  could  get.  What  had 
happened  to  him  after  that  ? 

My  interest  in  Jones  had  deepened.  I  had  tried  to  get  rid 
of  him  and  failed;  now,  when  he  disappeared  of  himself,  I 
tried  to  see  him,  and  failed.  I  wish  to  say  that  my  memory 
served  me  no  longer  in  regard  to  Jones.  There  was  a  blank  — 
a  blank  in  regard  to  Jones  and  in  regard  to  myself  also.  I 
had  got  to  the  end  of  that  experience,  for  I  had  no  doubt  that 
it  was  an  experience  of  my  own  in  some  incomprehensible 
connection  with  Jones. 

Then  I  return  to  Willis  again  —  and,  wonder  of  wonders,  I 
see  Jones  and  Dr.  Khayme  with  Willis  at  the  straw.  There 
is  another  man  also.  Who  is  he  ?  I  do  not  know.  He  and 
Jones  lift  Willis  into  an  ambulance,  and  all  go  away  into 
darkness. 

My  mind  was  now  in  a  tangle.  Jones  had  abandoned 
Willis,  yet  had  not  abandoned  him.  Which  of  the  two  inci- 
dents was  true  ?  Neither  ?  Both  ?  If  both,  which  followed 
the  other  ?     I  did  not  know. 

I  try  to  follow  Willis  ;  I  cannot.  I  try  to  follow  Dr. 
Khayme ;  I  fail.  I  had  tried  to  follow  Jones,  and  had  suc- 
ceeded in  a  measure  ;  I  try  again,  and  fail. 

Now  I  see  this  fact,  which  seems  to  me  remarkable  :  I  can- 
So 


450  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

not  remember  Willis  or  the  Doctor  alone  —  Jones  is  always 
present. 

Jones  —  Jones  —  where  have  I  known  a  man  named  Jones  ? 
Jones,  the  corporal  in  Company  H,  was  killed  at  Gettysburg ; 
he  is  the  only  Jones  I  can  recall.  Yet  I  must  have  had  rela- 
tions with  a  different  Jones ;  who  was  he  ?  I  must  try  to 
get  him. 

The  Doctor's  face  again  ;  Jones,  too,  is  there.  Jones  is  with 
the  Doctor  in  a  tent  at  night,  and  they  are  getting  ready  — 
getting  ready  for  what  ?  A  package  has  been  made.  They 
are  talking.  The  lights  are  put  out  and  I  lose  the  Doctor,  but 
I  can  yet  see  Jones.  In  the  dim  light  of  the  stars  he  comes 
out  of  the  tent ;  a  man  on  a  horse  is  near ;  he  holds  another 
horse,  ready  saddled.  Jones  mounts,  and  the  two  ride  away. 
And  I  hear  Jones  ask,  "  What  is  your  name  ?  "  and  I  hear  the 
man  reply,  *'  Jones." 

What  folly  ! 

But  the  other  Jones  asks  also,  "  Don't  you  know  me  ?  "  and 
then  another  picture  comes  before  me,  but  dimly,  for  it  seems 
almost  in  the  night :  Jones  —  this  new  Jones  —  is  standing 
near  a  prostrate  horse  as  black  as  jet  and  is  prisoner  in  the 
hands  of  Union  men,  and  the  other  Jones  is  there,  too,  and  I 
see  that  he  is  joyful  that  Jones  is  caught.  What  utter  folly! 
Is  everybody  to  be  named  Jones  ?  I  have  followed  one  Jones 
and  have  found  Lwo  —  possibly  three.  Wlio  is  the  true 
Jones  ?  Is  there  any  true  Jones  ?  Has  my  fevered  brain  but 
conjured  up  a  picture,  or  series  of  pictures,  of  events  that 
never  had  existence  ?  Why  should  one  Jones  be  glad  that 
another  Jones  was  caught  ?     I  give  up  this  new  Jones. 

Now  I  was  thinking  without  method  —  in  a  daze.  Every 
line  had  resulted  in  an  end  beyond  which  was  a  blank,  or  else 
confusion.     I  gave  myself  up  to  mere  revery. 

Somehow,  I  had  trust;  I  felt  that  I  was  at  a  beginning 
which  was  also  an  end.  I  had  come  far.  I  had  recovered  the 
name  of  Dr.  Khayme,  and  of  Lydia,  of  Sergeant  Jake  Willis, 


A   DOUBLE  451 

of  Jones,  "witli  possibly  another  Jones;  with  these  names  I 
ought  to  work  out  the  whole  enigma.  I  knew  that  Jones  was 
the  man  who  had  broken  his  gun ;  the  man  who  had  helped 
Willis  ;  the  man  who  had  been  under  the  bursting  shell  on  the 
hill.  Yes,  and  another  thought,  —  the  man  who  had  been 
wounded  there. 

I  knew  that  Lydia  was  the  Doctor's  daughter.  A  few  more 
relations  found  would  untangle  everything.  But  how  to  find 
more  ?  I  must  think.  Yet  thinking  seemed  weak.  I  believed 
that  if  I  could  quit  thinking,  the  thing  would  come  of  itself. 
Yet  how  to  quit  thinking  ?  I  remembered  that  I  had  received 
lessons  upon  the  power  of  the  will  from  Captain  Haskell 
and  .  .  .  from  .  .  .  somebody  .  .  .  who? — Why,  Doctor  Khayme, 
of  course. 

And  now  another  new  thought,  or  fancy.  T\Tiat  relation,  if 
any,  could  there  be  between  the  Captain  and  the  Doctor  ?  In 
a  confused  way  I  groped  in  the  tangle  of  this  question  until 
I  became  completely  lost  again,  having  gained,  however,  the 
knowledge  that  Dr.  Khayme  had  taught  me  concerning  the  will. 

I  lay  back  and  closed  my  eyes,  to  try  to  banish  thought ; 
the  effort  was  vain.  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  dreamed.  I  could 
recall  the  Doctor's  dark  face,  his  large  brow,  his  bright  eyes, 
and  a  pipe  —  yes,  a  pipe,  with  its  carven  bowl  showing  a 
strange  head;  and  I  could  recall  more  easily  the  Captain's 
long  jaw,  and  triangle  of  a  face,  and  even  the  slight  lisp  with 
which  he  spoke.  What  relationship  had  these  two  men  ?  If 
Captain  Haskell  had  ever  known  Dr.  Khayme,  should  I  not 
have  heard  him  speak  of  the  Doctor  ?  I  had  known  the  Cap- 
tain since  I  had  known  the  Doctor ;  where  had  I  known  the 
Doctor  ?  Where  had  I  known  him  first  ?  He  had  been  my 
teacher.  Where?  I  remembered  —  in  Charleston  !  But  why 
does  the  Doctor  associate  with  Willis,  who  is  distinctly  a 
Federal  soldier,  and  with  Jones,  who  is  sometimes  a  Federal  ? 
I  can  see  the  Doctor  in  an  ambulance  —  and  in  a  tent ;  he  must 
be  a  surgeon. 


452  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

Ah !  yes ;  Willis  is  a  prisoner,  after  all,  and  in  the  Confed- 
erate hospital. 

The  thought  of  a  possible  relationship  between  the  Doctor 
and  the  Captain  continued  to  come.  Why  should  I  think  of 
such  a  possibility  ?  My  brain  became  clearer.  My  people 
must  be  in  Charleston.  The  Captain  may  have  kno\\ai  the 
Doctor  in  Charleston.  They  may  have  been  friends.  They 
talked  of  similar  subjects  —  at  least,  they  had  views  which 
affected  me  similarly.  Yet  that  might  mean  nothing.  I  tried 
to  give  up  the  thought. 

Again  the  Doctor's  face,  and  the  Captain.  For  one  short 
instant  these  two  men  seemed  to  me  to  be  at  once  identical 
and  separate  —  even  opposite.  How  preposterous !  Yet  at 
the  same  moment  I  remembered  that  the  Captain  once  had 
said  he  was  not  sure  that  there  was  such  a  condition  as  abso- 
lute individuality.  Preposterous  or  not,  the  thought,  gone  at 
once,  had  brought  another  in  its  train :  I  had  never  seen  these 
two  men  together,  and  I  had  never  seen  the  Doctor  without 
Jones.  Wherever  the  Doctor  was,  there  was  Jones  also.  Here 
came  again  the  former  glimmering  notion  of  double  and  even 
opposite  identity.  Was  Jones  two?  He  was  seemingly  a 
Federal  and  a  Confederate.  I  had  supposed,  weakly,  that  he 
was  a  Confederate  spy  in  a  Federal  uniform ;  but  his  conduct 
at  Manassas  had  not  borne  out  the  supposition.  He  had  even 
broken  his  gun  rather  than  have  it  fall  into  the  hands  of  Con- 
federates, and  had  helped  a  wounded  Federal.  Yet,  again, 
that  conduct  might  have  been  part  of  a  very  deep  plan.  What 
plan  ?  To  deceive  the  enemy  so  fully  that  he  would  be  re- 
ceived everywhere  as  one  of  them  ?  Yes ;  or  rather  to  act  in 
entire  conformity  with  his  supposed  character.  He  must 
always  act  the  complete  Federal  when  with  Federals,  so  that 
no  suspicion  should  attach  to  him.  No  doubt  he  had  remained 
in  the  Federal  camp  until  he  had  got  the  information  needed, 
and  had  returned  to  the  Confederates  before  he  had  been 
wounded  by  the  shell. 


A  DOUBLE  453 

So,  all  these  fancies  had  resulted  in  worse  than  nothing; 
every  effort  I  had  made,  on  these  lines,  had  but  entangled  me 
more.  That  Jones  was  a  Confederate  spy,  was  highly  proba- 
ble ;  this  absurd  notion  of  a  double  had  drawn  me  away  from 
the  right  track ;  he  was  a  double,  it  is  true,  but  only  on  the 
surface ;  he  was  a  Confederate  acting  the  Federal. 

Jones  interests  me  intensely.  There  is  something  extraordi- 
nary about  him.  No  man  that  I  ever  saw  or  heard  of  seems  to 
possess  his  capacity  to  interest  me.  Yet  his  only  peculiarity 
is  that  he  changes  clothing.  No,  not  his  only  one;  he  has 
another  :  he  is  absolutely  ubiquitous. 

That  he  has  some  close  relationship  with  me  is  clear.  Why 
clear  ?  Just  because  I  cannot  get  rid  of  him  ?  Is  that  a  reason  ? 
Nothing  is  clear.  My  head  is  not  clear.  All  this  mysterious 
Jones  matter  may  be  delusion.  Dr.  Khayme  is  fact,  and  Lydia 
is  fact,  and  Willis ;  but  as  to  this  Jones,  or  these  Joneses,  I 
doubt.  Doubt  is  not  relief.  Jones  remains.  Wherever  I  turn 
I  find  him.  He  will  not  down.  If  he  is  a  fact,  he  must  be 
the  most  important  person  related  to  my  life.  More  so  than 
Lydia  ? 

What  is  Jones  to  me  ?  My  mind  confesses  defeat  and 
struggles  none  the  less.  Could  he  be  a  brother  ?  Can  it  be 
possible,  after  all,  that  my  name  is  B.  Jones  ?  Anything  seems 
possible.  Yet  a  thought  shows  me  that  this  supposition  is 
untenable.  If  I  am  Berwick  Jones,  and  the  spy  was  my 
brother,  I  should  have  heard  of  him  long  ago. 

Why  ?  why  should  I  hear  of  him,  when  I  could  not  hear  of 
myself  ?  The  Confederate  army  may  have  had  a  score  of  spies 
named  Jones,  and  I  had  never  heard  of  one  of  them. 

But  if  he  had  been  my  brother,  he  would  have  hunted  me, 
and  would  have  found  me  !     That  was  it. 

This  thought  was  more  reasonable  —  but  ...  he  might  have 
been  killed ! 

He  must  have  been  killed  by  the  shell  on  the  hill  .  .  , 
yes  .  .  .  that  is  why  I  can  trace  him   no  farther.      I  have 


454  WHO  GOES  THEKE? 

never  seen  him  since.  Why  had  I  at  first  assumed  that  he  had 
been  wounded  only  ?  I  see  that  I  assumed  too  much  —  or  too 
little.  I  had  seen  him  under  the  fire,  and  had  seen  him  no 
more;  that  was  all. 

Yet  I  knew  absolutely  and  strangely  that  Jones  had  not 
been  killed. 

It  is  certain  that  the  memory,  in  retracing  a  succession  of 
events,  does  not  voluntarily  take  the  back  track ;  it  goes  over 
the  grovind  again,  just  as  the  events  succeeded,  from  antece- 
dent to  consequent,  rather  than  backward.  It  is  more  difficult 
—  leaving  memory  aside  —  to  take  present  conditions  and  dis- 
cover the  unknown  which  evolved  these  conditions,  than  to 
take  present  conditions  and  show  what  will  be  evolved  from 
them.  Of  course,  if  we  already  know  what  preceded  these 
conditions,  there  is  no  discovery  to  be  claimed  —  and  that  is 
what  I  am  saying  :  that  with  our  knowledge  of  the  present, 
the  future  is  not  a  discovery ;  it  is  a  mere  development  natu- 
rally augured  from  the  present.  An  incapable  general  means 
defeat,  but  defeat  does  not  imply  an  incapable  general. 

Now,  I  had  been  trying  to  begin  with  Jones  on  the  bare  hill 
where  I  had  seen  him  latest,  and  to  go  back,  but  my  efforts 
had  only  proved  the  truth  of  the  foregoing.  I  had  only  jumped 
back  a  considerable  distance,  and  from  the  past  had  followed 
Jones  forward  as  well  as  my  imperfect  powers  permitted; 
again  I  had  jumped  back  and  had  followed  him  until  he  met 
the  Doctor  in  the  night.  The  episode  of  lifting  Willis  into  the 
ambulance  seemed  a  separate  event  of  very  short  duration. 
My  mind  had  unconsciously  appreciated  the  difficulty  of  work- 
ing backward,  and  had  in  reality  endeavoured  to  avoid  that 
almost  impossible  process  by  dividing  Jones  into  several  peri- 
ods and  following  the  events  of  each  period  in  order  of  time 
and  succession.  I  now,  without  having  willed  to  think  it,  be- 
came conscious  of  this  difficulty,  and  I  yielded  at  once  to  sug- 
gestion. I  would  begin  anew,  and  would  help  the  natural 
process. 


A  DOUBLE  465 

First  I  tried  to  siun  up  results.  I  found  these :  first,  Jones, 
in  blue,  helps  another  man  in  blue  and  I  follow  him  until  I 
lose  him  when  he  reaches  the  Doctor.  Second,  Jones,  in  blue, 
and  the  Doctor  come  to  Willis  again  —  and  then  I  lose  Jones 
and  all  of  them.  Third,  Jones  —  alone  and  in  gray  —  is  in  the 
act  of  falling,  with  a  shell  bursting  over  him,  and  I  lose  him. 

I  had  no  doubt  of  the  order  in  which  these  events  had  oc- 
curred, and  none  whatever  of  the  fact  that  all  of  Jones's  life 
had  been  lost  to  me,  if  not  indeed  to  himself,  when  I  saw  him 
fall.  Kow  I  wanted  to  find  connecting  events ;  I  wanted  to 
know  how  to  join  the  Jones  at  the  secret  place  in  the  woods 
with  the  Jones  that  I  had  seen  fall,  and  I  set  my  memory  to 
work,  but  obtained  nothing.  The  scene  ou  the  hill  seemed 
unrelated  to  that  of  Willis. 

There  was  remembrance,  it  is  true,  of  Jones  walking  through 
a  forest  at  night,  but  the  scene  was  so  indistinct  that  I  could 
make  nothing  out  of  it ;  I  could  not  decide  even  whether  it  had 
occurred  before  the  time  of  Manassas.  Then,  too,  there  was 
recollection  of  Jones  in  a  tent,  and  of  an  officer  in  blue  show- 
ing him  a  map,  and  I  could  also  remember  that  I  had  seen  or 
heard  that  Jones  had  been  on  a  shore  with  the  Doctor  and 
Lydia.  These  events  had  no  connection.  Between  Jones  in 
blue  and  Jones  in  gray  there  were  gaps  which  I  could  not 
cross. 

Yet  I  set  myself  diligently  to  the  task  of  joining  these 
events  with  the  more  important  ones:  taxing  my  memory, 
diving  into  the  past,  hunting  for  the  slightest  clews. 

And  there  was  another  event,  farther  back  seemingly  in  the 
dim  past,  that  I  could  faintly  recall  —  Jones,  sick  in  a  tent 
with  the  Doctor  attending  him.  .  .  .  yes,  and  some  one  else  in 
the  tent.  I  strained  my  head  to  recall  this  scene  more  clearly. 
In  this  case  Jones  had  no  uniform;  neither  did  the  others 
wear  uniform.  And  now  a  new  doubt  —  why  in  a  tent  and 
without  uniform  ? 

For  a  moment  I  tried  to  settle  this  question  by  answering 


456  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

that  the  Confederate  troops  had  not  been  provided  with  uni- 
forms at  so  early  a  period ;  but  the  answer  proved  unsatis- 
factory. I  knew  or  felt  that  Doctor  Khayme's  relationship 
with  me  was  so  near  that,  had  he  been  a  Confederate  surgeon, 
he  would  have  found  me  long  since. 

Yet  the  Doctor  might  be  dead,  as  well  as  Jones,  was  the 
thought  which  followed. 

But  I  knew  again  that  Jones  was  still  alive.  How  I  knew 
it,  I  could  not  have  told,  but  I  knew  it. 

Then,  too,  there  was  a  strange  feeling  of  something  like 
intuition  in  my  knowing  that  Jones  was  sick  —  why  should 
Jones  not  be  wounded  rather  than  sick  ?  How  could  I  know 
that  this  scene  in  the  tent  was  not  the  sequence  of  the  scene 
of  the  bursting  shell  ?  But  I  say  that  I  knew  Jones  was  sick, 
and  not  wounded.     How  could  I  know  this  ? 

And  there  was  yet  a  third  instance  of  unreasoning  know- 
ledge —  I  knew  that  Jones  was  in  gray  in  the  night  and  in  a 
dense  forest. 

I  examined  myself  to  see  whether  I  believed  in  intuition, 
and  I  reached  the  conclusion  that  only  one  of  these  events  was 
an  instance  of  knowledge  without  a  foundation  in  reason.  I 
knew  that  Jones  was  in  gray  in  the  dark  night.  Had  I  been 
told  so  ?  Had  he  told  me  so  ?  I  knew  that  he  had  been  sick. 
Had  he  told  me  so  ?  In  any  case,  I  knew  these  things  and 
knew  that  my  knowledge  was  simple.  But  how  could  I  know 
that  Jones  was  now  alive  ? 

Why  should  Jones  be  alive  ?  The  only  answer  I  could  then 
make  was,  that  I  felt  sure  of  the  fact.  I  had  no  reason  to 
advance  to  myself  for  this  knowledge,  or  feeling.  I  felt  that 
it  was  more  than  intuition.  I  felt  that  it  was  experience,  not 
the  experience  of  sight  or  hearing  or  any  of  the  senses,  but 
experience  nevertheless — subconscious,  if  you  wish  to  call  it  so 
in  these  days.  Though  the  experience  was  inexplicable,  it  was 
none  the  less  valid.  I  wondered  at  myself  for  thinking  this, 
yet  I  did  not  doubt.     There  are  many  avenues  to  the  soul.     To 


A  DOUBLE  457 

know  that  a  man  is  alive,  seeing  him  walk  is  not  essential,  nor 
hearing  him  speak,  nor  touching  his  beating  pulse ;  he  may  be 
motionless  and  dumb,  yet  will  he  have  the  life  of  expression 
and  intelligence  in  his  face.  Communication  between  mind 
a,nd  mind  does  not  depend  on  nearness  or  direction.  But  I  saw 
no  face.  Intelligence  resides  not  in  feature ;  the  change  of 
feature  is  but  one  of  its  myriad  effects.  The  mind  of  the 
world  affects  every  individual  mind  .  .  .  where  did  I  hear  such 
an  idea  advanced  ?  From  whom  ?  Dr.  Khayme,  beyond  a 
doubt. 

I  was  sure  of  it.  And  then  opened  before  me  a  page,  and  many 
pages,  of  the  past,  in  which  I  read  the  Doctor's  philosophy. 

I  remembered  his  opinions  ...  he  was  a  disbeliever  in 
war  .  .  .  why,  then,  was  he  in  the  army  ? 

Perhaps  he  was  not  in  the  army.  Yet  was  he  not  doing 
service  as  a  surgeon  ?  Was  he  not  attending  to  Jones,  sick  in 
a  tent  ?  But  the  tent  itself  did  not  prove  the  existence  of  an 
army.     The  Doctor  wore  no  uniform. 

But  a  tent  is  strong  presumption  of  an  army.  Was  the 
Doctor  a  surgeon  ?  And  the  ambulance  .  .  .  the  tent  coupled 
with  the  ambulance  made  the  army  almost  certain.  And 
Jones  and  Willis,  both  soldiers,  assisted  by  the  Doctor  .  .  . 
yes,  the  Doctor  must  be  an  army  surgeon,  although  he  wears 
no  uniform.  Perhaps  he  wears  uniform  only  on  occasions; 
when  at  work  at  his  calling  he  puts  it  off. 

I  have  gained  a  position  from  which  I  must  examine  every- 
thing anew  —  in  a  new  light. 

I  consider  the  Doctor  a  surgeon  in  the  army.  Why  has  he 
not  found  me  ?  Again  comes  that  thought  of  double  person- 
ality, and  this  time  it  will  not  down  so  easily.  I  can  remem- 
ber the  Doctor's  utterances  upon  the  universal  mind,  and  upon 
the  power  of  the  will.  I  can  remember  that  I  had  almost 
feared  him  .  .  .  and  suddenly  I  remember  that  Willis  had  said 
that  the  Doctor  could  read  the  mind  .  .  .  What  !  Who  ?  I  ? 
Jones  ? 


458  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

My  brain  reeled.  I  was  faint  and  dizzy.  If  the  order  to 
march  had  come,  I  could  not  have  moved. 

What  was  this  new  and  strange  knowledge  ?  How  had  it 
come  ?  I  had  simply  remembered  that  Willis  had  told  Jones 
that  the  Doctor  could  tell  what  another  man  was  thinking,  and 
I  had  known  that  Willis  had  spoken  the  words  to  me  ! 

Then  I  was  Jones.  No  wonder  I  could  not  get  rid  of 
him,  for  he  had  my  mind  in  his  body.  One  mind  in  two 
bodies  ?  How  could  that  be  ?  But  I  remember  that  the  Cap- 
tain warned  me  against  attributing  to  mind  extension  or  divisi- 
bility or  any  property  of  matter.  I  am  a  double  —  perhaps 
more.  Who  knows  but  that  the  relation  of  mind  with  mind 
is  the  relation  of  unity  ?  It  must  be  so.  I  can  see  that  I  am 
Jones.  No  wonder  that  I  felt  tired  when  he  was  weary  ;  no 
wonder  that  I  knew  he  wore  gray  in  the  night;  no  wonder 
that  I  knew  he  was  not  dead. 

Yes,  the  broken  gun  was  mine ;  I  have  been  a  Confederate 
spy.     I  am  Jones  Berwick  and  1  am  Berwick  Jones. 


XXXVIII 

IDENTITY 

"  Which  is  the  side  that  I  must  go  withal  ? 
I  am  with  both  :  each  army  hath  a  hand  ; 
And,  in  their  rage,  I  having  hold  of  both, 
They  whirl  asunder,  and  dismember  me." 

—  Shakespeare. 

I  HAD  been  in  the  battle  of  Manassas,  fighting  in  the  ranks 
of  bine  soldiers  —  yes,  I  remember  the  charge  and  the  defeat 
and  the  rout.  How  vividly  I  now  remember  the  words  — 
strange  I  thought  them  then  —  of  Dr.  Khayme.  He  had 
said  that  it  might  be  a  spy's  duty  to  desert  even,  in  order 
to  accomplish  his  designs. 

Had  this  suggestion  been  made  before  the  fact  ?  I  am 
again  in  a  mist.  But  what  matter?  I  had  not  deserted  in 
reality ;  I  had  only  pretended  to  desert.  Yet  I  think  it  strange 
that  I  cannot  remember  what  Jones  Berwick  felt  when  decid- 
ing to  act  the  deserter.  Had  he  found  pretended  desertion 
necessary  ? 

Yes,  undoubtedly;  unless  he  had  passed  himself  off  as  a 
deserter  he  could  not  have  been  received  into  the  Yankee 
army,  and  I  now  knew  that  I  was  once  in  that  army. 

But  why  could  I  not  have  joined  it  as  a  recruit  ? 

Simply  because  Jones  Berwick  was  in  the  Confederate 
army ;  I  could  not  have  easily  gone  North  to  enlist. 

But  could  I  not  have  clothed  myself  at  once  as  a  Union  sol- 
dier, so  that  there  would  have  been  no  need  of  desertion  ? 

No  ;  I  could  not  have  answered  questions ;  I  should  have 
been  asked  my  regiment ;  I  should  have  been  ordered  back  to 

469 


460  WHO   GOES   THEEE  ? 

my  regiment.  I  remember  the  difficulty  I  had  met  with  when 
I  joined,  or  when  Berwick  Jones  joined,  Company  H.  I  had 
been  compelled  to  lay  aside  the  Confederate  uniform,  and  join 
as  a  recruit  dressed  in  civilian's  clothing,  merely  because  I 
could  not  bear  to  have  questions  asked.  So,  when  I  had 
played  the  Federal,  if  I  had  presented  myself  in  a  blue  uni- 
form, I  could  not  have  answered  questions,  and  the  require- 
ment to  report  to  my  company  would  have  destroyed  my  whole 
plan. 

Yet  it  was  just  possible  that  I  had  succeeded  in  obtaining 
civilian's  clothing,  and  had  joined  the  Federals  as  a  pretended 
recruit,  just  as  I  had  joined  Company  H  later.  This  was  less 
unlikely  when  coupled  with  the  thought  that  possibly  my  first 
experience  in  this  course  had  had  some  hidden  influence  on 
my  second. 

But  why  is  it  that  I  cannot  recall  my  first  service  as  a  Con- 
federate ?  The  question  disturbs  me.  My  peculiar  way  of 
forgetting  must  be  the  reason.  When,  as  Jones  Berwick  the 
Confederate,  I  became  Berwick  Jones  the  Federal,  there  must 
have  come  upon  my  mind  a  phase  of  oblivion  similar  to  that 
which  clouded  it  when  I  became  a  Confederate  again. 

Yet  this  explanation  is  weak.  No  such  thing  could  occur 
twice  just  at  the  critical  time  .  .  .  unless  .  .  .  some  power, 
mysterious  and  profound.  .  .  .  What  was  Dr.  Khayme  in  all 
this? 

And  another  thought,  which  bewilders  me  no  less.  On  my 
musket  I  had  carved  J.  B.  I  was  Jones  Berwick  as  a  Federal. 
Then  I  must  always  have  been  Berwick  Jones  when  a  Confed- 
erate. How  did  I  ever  get  to  be  Berwick  Jones  ?  How  did  1 
ever  become  Jones  Berwick  ?  Which  was  I  at  first  ?  Had  I 
ever  deserted  ?     Had  I  ever  been  a  spy  ?     I  doubt  everything. 

My  mind  became  clearer.  I  could  connect  events  :  the  first 
Manassas,  or  Bull  Run;  the  helping  of  Willis;  the  meeting 
with  the  Doctor ;  the  return  to  Willis ;  the  shore  and  the  battle 
of  the  ships ;  the  Merrimac ;  the  line  of  the  Warwick ;  the 


IDENTITY  461 

lines  at  Hanover ;  the  night  tramp  in  the  swamp ;  crossing  the 
hill ;  a  blank,  which  my  double  memory  knew  how  to  fill,  and 
the  subsequent  events  of  my  second  service  in  our  army. 
Nothing  important  seemed  lacking  since  the  battle  of  Bull 
Run.  Before  that  battle  everything  was  confusion.  My  home 
was  still  unknown.  The  friends  of  my  former  life,  so  far  as  I 
could  remember,  had  been  Federals,  if  Dr.  Khayme  and  Lydia 
could  be  called  Federals. 

Yet  I  supposed  my  home  was  Charleston.  My  memory  now 
began  with  that  city.  There  were  but  two  great  gaps  remain- 
ing to  be  filled  :  first,  my  life  before  I  was  at  school  under  the 
Doctor ;  second,  my  life  at  home  and  in  the  Confederate  army 
before  I  pretended  to  desert  to  the  Federals. 

I  am  Jones  Berwick  and  I  am  Berwick  Jones  ?  What  an 
absurdity  !  Let  reason  work ;  the  idea  is  preposterous !  What 
does  it  mean  ?  Can  it  mean  any  more  than  that  you  were 
known  at  one  time  as  Jones  Berwick  and  at  another  time  as 
Berwick  Jones  ?  It  is  insanity  to  think  that  you  are  two  per- 
sons at  once.  Have  you  imagined  that  now,  while  you  are  a 
Confederate  again,  there  is  also  a  you  in  the  Yankee  army  ? 
When  your  connection  with  the  Confederates  was  interrupted 
you  were  received  by  the  Federals  as  Jones  Berwick ;  the  J.  B. 
on  the  gunstock  shows  that  well  enough ;  but  when  you  became 
a  Confederate  again,  your  name  was  reversed  because  of  that 
diary ! 

I  took  out  the  diary.  It  was  too  dark  to  read,  but  I  knew 
every  word  of  the  few  lines  in  it,  —  B.  Jones,  on  the  fly-leaf. 

And  now  I  recall  that  the  Doctor  had  told  me  to  write  in  the 
little  book.  .  .  .  What  was  his  purpose  ?  To  deceive  the 
enemy  in  case  I  should  be  taken  ?     Yes. 

But  —  I  was  going  to  become  a  Confederate  again ! 

Did  the  Doctor  know  that  ? 

Yes  ;  he  knew  it.  At  least  he  provided  for  such  a  change ; 
the  words  he  dictated  were  for  a  Confederate's  diary.  He  knew 
it  ?     Yes  ;  he  helped  me  on  with  the  Confederate  uniform  ! 


462  WHO   GOES   THEEE? 

Then  why  should  he  think  that  additional  effort  —  the  diary 

—  was  required  to  make  Confederates  believe  a  Confederate  a 
Confederate  ? 

Could  I  not  at  once  have  named  my  original  company  and 
its  officers  ?     Why  this  child's  play  of  the  diary  ? 

I  studied  hard  this  phase  of  the  tangle. 

Perhajjs  the  Doctor  wanted  me  to  be  able  to  prove  myself  to 
the  first  party  of  Confederates  I  should  meet.  Yes ;  that  is 
reasonable.  I  might  have  been  subjected  to  much  embarrass- 
ing questioning  —  and  to  detention  —  but  for  something  on  my 
person  to  give  substance  to  my  statement.  The  Doctor  was 
far-sighted.     He  had  protected  me. 

But  how  could  I  make  a  statement  ?  How  could  I  know 
what  to  say  to  a  party  of  Confederates  ?  I  laughed  at  the 
question,  and  especially  at  the  thought  which  had  caused  it. 
I  had  actually  forgotten,  for  the  moment,  that  I  was  a  real 
Confederate,  and  had  begun  to  imagine  that  I  had  been  a  Fed- 
eral trying  to  get  into  the  Confederate  lines,  and  whom  the 
Doctor  was  helping  to  do  so. 

But,  was  the  Doctor  a  Confederate  ?  He  must  have  been  a 
Confederate.  If  so,  what  was  he,  too,  doing  in  the  Federal 
camp  ?     He,  too,  a  spy  ?     He  and  I  were  allies  ?     Possibly. 

But  is  it  not  more  likely  that  he  was  deceived  in  me  ?  Did 
he  not  think  me  a  Union  soldier  ?  If  so,  he  thought  that  he 
was  helping  me  to  play  the  spy  in  the  interest  of  the  Federals. 

What,  then  ?  Why,  then  the  Doctor  was,  after  all,  a  surgeon 
in  the  Union  army. 

But  I  knew  that  the  Doctor  was  thoroughly  opposed  to  war ; 
he  would  not  fight ;  he  took  no  side ;  he  even  argued  with  me 
.  .  .  God  !  what  was  it  that  he  argued  ?  And  what  in  me 
was  he  arguing  against  ?     He  had  contended  —  I  remember  it 

—  that  the  war  would  destroy  slavery,  and  that  was  what  he 
wanted  to  be  done ;  and  I  had  contended  that  the  Union  was 
pledged  by  the  Constitution  to  protect  slavery,  and  all  I  wanted 
was  the  preservation  of  the  Union. 


IDENTITY  463 

A  cold  shudder  came  through  me. 

In  an  instant  I  could  see  better.  Such  talk  had  been  part  of 
my  plan.  I  had  even  succeeded  iu  blinding  the  Doctor.  Yet 
this  thought  gave  little  pleasure.  To  have  deceived  the 
Doctor !  I  had  thought  him  too  wise  to  allow  himself  to  be 
deceived. 

Yet  any  man  may  be  cheated  at  times.  But,  had  I  lent 
myself  to  a  course  which  had  cheated  Dr.  Khayme  ?  This 
was  hard  to  believe.  I  became  bewildered  again.  I^To  matter 
which  way  I  looked,  there  was  a  tangle.  I  have  not  got  to  the 
bottom  of  this  thing. 

Of  two  things  one  must  be  true :  first.  Dr.  Khayme  is  a 
Confederate  and  my  ally ;  second,  I  have  been  such  a  skilful 
spy  that  I  have  deceived  him  with  all  his  wisdom  and  all  my 
reluctance  to  deceive  him.    Which  of  these  two  things  is  true  ? 

Let  me  look  again  at  the  first.  I  am  sure  that  the  Doctor 
was  in  some  way  attached  to  the  army.  What  army  ?  I 
know.  I  know  not  only  that  it  was  the  Union  army,  but  I 
know  even  that  it  was  McClellan's  army.  I  remember  now 
the  Doctor's  telling  me  about  movements  that  McClellan 
would  make.  These  things  happened  in  McClellan's  army 
while  I  was  a  spy.  To  suppose  that  the  Doctor  was  my  ally 
comports  with  his  giving  me  information  of  McClellan's  move- 
ments. He  was  a  surgeon,  and,  of  course,  a  Confederate ;  he 
certainly  was  from  Charleston,  and  must  have  been  a  Confed- 
erate. But,  on  the  other  hand,  I  remember  clearly  his  great 
hostility  to  slavery,  and  his  hostility,  no  less  great,  to  war. 
From  this  it  seems  that  he  could  not  have  been  a  Confederate. 

Let  me  look  at  the  second.  I  am  sure  that  I  was  a  spy  and 
that  I  was  in  McClellan's  army.  I  am  equally  sure  that  the 
Doctor  knew  that  I  was  a  spy.  He  had  even  argued  in  favour 
of  my  work  as  a  spy.  How,  then,  could  I  deceive  him  ? 
There  is  but  one  answer:  he  thought  me  a  Union  spy,  and 
that  I  was  to  go  into  the  Confederate  lines  to  get  information, 
when  the  opposite  was  true. 


464  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

Now  the  first  proposition  seems  clearly  contradictory.  The 
Doctor  -was  not  a  Confederate,  and  I  feel  sure  that  he  did 
not  know  that  I  was  a  Confederate  spy.  I  give  up  the  first 
proposition. 

Since  one  of  the  two  is  true,  and  the  first  is  not,  then  the 
second  must  be  the  truth.  I  must  have  played  the  spy  so  well 
that  even  Dr.  Khayme  had  been  deceived. 

Yet  I  can  remember  no  deceit  in  my  mind.  I  was  a  spy, 
and  my  business  was  deceit ;  yet  in  regard  to  the  Doctor  I  feel 
sure  that  I  was  open  and  frank.  The  second  proposition, 
while  possible,  I  reject,  at  least  for  a  time. 

Can  I  decide  that  neither  of  two  opposite  things  can  be  true  ? 
How  absurd !  Yet  I  recall  an  utterance  of  the  Doctor,  "  There 
is  nothing  false  absolutely ; "  and  I  recall  another,  "  To  exam- 
ine a  question  thoroughly,  be  not  content  with  looking  at  two 
sides  of  it ;  look  at  three." 

Let  me  try  again,  then,  and  see  if  by  any  possibility  there 
be  a  third  alternative.  The  first,  namely,  that  the  Doctor  is  a 
Confederate,  is  untrue;  the  second,  namely,  that  I  deceived 
him,  is  untrue  :  what  is  a  possible  third  ? 

I  fail  to  see  what  else  is  possible  .  .  .  wait  ...  let  me  put 
myself  in  the  Doctor's  place.  Let  me  consider  his  antislavery 
notions  and  his  invulnerability  to  deceit.  He  sends  me,  as  he 
thinks,  into  the  Confederate  lines  as  a  Union  spy.     Why  ? 

Because  he  believes  I  am  a  Union  spy.  Well,  what  does 
that  show  but  that  he  is  deceived  ?  The  reasoning  turns  on 
itself.  It  will  not  do.  Where  is  the  trouble?  There  is  a 
way  out,  if  I  could  but  find  it. 

What  is  that  third  alternative  ?  Can  it  be  that  the  Doctor 
knew  I  was  a  Confederate  and  wished  to  help  me  return  to 
my  people  ?  He  was  opposed  to  war,  and  would  take  no  part 
in  it ;  was  he  indifferent  in  regard  to  the  success  of  the  Fed- 
erals? No;  he  wished  for  the  extinction  of  slavery.  Yet 
Captain  Haskell  was  a  Confederate,  but  he  argued  for  a  modi- 
fication of  slavery,  and  for  gradual  emancipation. 


IDENTITY  465 

Could  Dr.  Khayme  have  had  such  affection  for  me  that 
he  would  do  violence  to  his  own  sentiments  for  my  sake  ? 
Was  he  willing  for  me  to  go  back  to  the  Confederate  army  ? 
Perhaps  one  man  more  or  fewer  does  not  count.  Possibly  he 
helped  me  for  the  purpose  of  doing  me  good,  knowing  that  he 
was  doing  the  Union  cause  no  harm. 

But  would  he  not  know  that  the  information  I  should  take 
to  the  Confederates  would  be  worth  many  men  ?  He  would 
be  seriously  injuring  his  cause. 

Perhaps  he  made  me  promise  not  to  use  my  information. 
No ;  that  could  not  be  true.  He  was  above  such  conduct,  and 
his  affection  for  me  was  too  sincere  to  admit  the  purpose  of 
degrading  me ;  neither  would  I  have  yielded. 

And  now  I  see  other  inconsistencies  in  all  of  these  suppo- 
sitions. For  the  Doctor  to  know  that  I  was  a  Confederate, 
and  at  the  same  time  help  me  to  act  the  Union  spy,  would  be 
deceit  on  his  part.  I  am  forced  to  admit  that  he  knew  my 
true  character  and  that  I  knew  he  knew  me. 

But,  MY  God  !     Willis  did  not  know  me ! 

An  instant  has  shown  me  Willis's  face,  his  form,  his  red 
hair,  as  he  attacked  me  at  the  close  of  the  day  at  second  Ma- 
nassas !  That  look  of  relenting,  when  his  powerful  arm  refused 
to  strike  me ;  that  look  of  astonishment,  —  all  now  show  that, 
in  the  supreme  moment  preceding  death,  he  knew  my  face 
and  was  thunderstruck  to  find  me  a  Confederate ! 

Willis  had  never  known  me  as  a  Confederate;  then  why 
should  the  Doctor  have  known  me  as  such  ? 

Yet  I  am  sure  that  Dr.  Khayme  has  been  to  me  much 
nearer  than  Willis  ever  was,  and  much  more  important  to  my 
life.  And,  besides,  I  feel  that  Willis  could  have  been  more 
easily  deceived.  I  know  that  Willis  did  not  know  me,  but  the 
Doctor  knew  me,  for  he  helped  me  return  to  the  Confed- 
erates. 

.  .  .  Poor  Willis !  ...  he  refused  to  strike !  .  .  . 

But  why  did  Willis  relent  ?  Even  after  he  knew  that  I  was 
2h 


466  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

a  rebel,  he  had  refused  to  strike  I     Refused  to  strike  a  traitor  ? 
Why  ?     Why  ? 

I  fear  for  my  reason.  .  .  . 

I  must  cease  to  follow  these  horrible  thoughts.  I  must 
try  another  line.  So  far  as  I  know,  I  have  never  given  the 
Confederates  the  information  gained  from  the  Yankees :  why  ? 
Because  I  could  not.  My  wound  had  caused  me  to  forget. 
Now,  had  the  Doctor  been  able  to  read  the  future  ?  If  he  had 
such  power,  his  course  in  regard  to  me  could  be  understood. 
He  knew  that  I  should  become  unable  to  reveal  anything  to 
injure  his  cause,  therefore  he  was  willing  to  help  me  return 
to  the  Confederate  army.  There,  at  last,  was  a  third  alterna- 
tive, but  a  bare  possibility  only.     Was  it  even  that  ? 

To  assume  that  the  Doctor,  even  with  all  his  wonderful 
insight,  knew  what  would  become  of  me,  was  nonsense.  To 
suppose  he  could  read  the  future  was  hardly  less  violent  than 
to  suppose  he  could  control  the  future.  Mind  is  powerful,  but 
there  are  limits.  What  are  the  limits  ?  Had  not  the  Doctor 
spoken  to  me  of  this  very  subject  ?  He  had  reasoned  against 
there  being  limits  to  the  power  of  the  mind  .  .  .  notwith- 
standing my  resistance  to  the  thought  I  still  think  it ;  I  am 
still  thinking  of  the  possibility  that  the  Doctor  controlled  me, 
and  caused  me  to  lose  the  past  in  order  that  thus  he  might  not 
be  accessory  to  a  betrayal  of  his  ovm.  cause. 

This  view  explains  —  but  how  can  I  grant  the  impossible  ? 
Yet  how  can  I  place  a  limit  to  the  power  of  mind  ?  God  is 
mind  .  .  .  and  if  there  is  a  man  on  earth  who  can  do  such 
miracles,  that  man  is  Dr.  Khayme. 

But,  another  thought  —  why  should  the  Doctor  have  been 
willing  for  me  to  suffer  so  ?  If  he  knew  that  I  should  be  hurt 
—  and  that  I  should  endure  mortification  —  and  be  without 
friends  —  and  long  hopeless  of  all  good  —  why  shoiild  he  do 
me  such  injury  ?  Would  it  not  have  been  better  for  me  to 
remain  in  the  Union  army  ?     I  could  not  see  any  reason  for  his 


IDENTITY  467 

subjecting  me  to  so  bitter  an  experience — but  wait  —  did  he  not 
contend  that  every  human  being  must  go  through  an  infinity 
of  experience  ?  That  being  true — or  true  to  his  thought  —  he 
might  be  just  in  causing  me  to  endure  what  I  have  endured. 

Now  the  whole  course  of  events,  at  least  all  since  Bull 
Run,  seems  clear  if  I  can  but  know  —  or  even  believe  —  that 
any  man  has  such  superhuman  power.     Can  I  believe  it  ? 

Again  it  is  my  time  for  vedette  duty.  I  relieve  Butler. 
Not  long  till  dawn,  I  think.  Far  to  my  left  I  hear  sounds,  as 
if  an  army  is  stirring.  My  time  will  be  short  on  post.  Where 
was  I  ?     Yes ;  the  supernatural  power  of  the  Doctor. 

What  would  the  possession  of  such  power  imply  ?  To  see 
future  events  and  control  them !  Divine  power  ?  Yes,  in 
degree,  at  least.  But  the  mind,  is  it  not  divine  ?  I  have  seen 
the  Doctor  do  marvellous  things.  That  letter  of  my  father's 
was  a  mystery.  .  .  .  What !     My  father ! 

The  sounds  increase ;  the  army  is  moving ;  the  day  is  near. 

I  have  a  father  ?     Who  is  my  father  ? 

The  thought  brings  me  to  my  feet. 

I  had  been  sitting  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree.  Far  in  front 
stretches  the  dark  valley  of  the  Hedgeman  River.  Confused 
noises  come  frora  rear  and  left.  The  vedettes  will  be  withdrawn 
at  once,  no  doubt,  for  the  march  begins.  Where  is  my  father  ? 
Wliere  he  is  there  should  I  be  also.  Suddenly  light  comes ;  I 
knpw  that  the  letter  was  signed  Jones  Berwick,  Sr.  From  what 
place  was  it  written  ?  I  do  not  know.  But  I  know  that  my 
father  is  the  man  in  the  tent  where  the  Doctor  attends  me  sick. 

I  make  a  step  forward. 

Owens,  on  my  left  a  hundred  yards,  shouts,  "  Jones,  come 
on ;  the  line  is  moving  back ;  we  are  ordered  back !  " 

I  open  my  mouth  to  reply  to  him,  but  think  better  of  it. 

I  understand. 

I  am  going  to  my  father. 

A  flood  of  recollection  has  poured  upon  me. 

I  am  the  happiest  —  no,  the  most  wretched  —  man  on  earth. 


XXXIX 


BEPAKATION 


"  Unthread  the  rude  eye  of  rebellion, 
And  welcome  home  again  discarded  faith." 

—  Shakespeare. 

My  past  life  had  rushed  tumultuously  upon  me.  Oh !  the 
misery  of  it  would  have  slain  me  there,  a  rebel  picket,  but 
that  balance  was  made  by  its  all  coming. 

I  must  turn  my  back  upon  my  comrades,  but  I  should  go  to 
my  father.  The  Southern  cause  must  be  forsaken,  but  I  should 
recover  my  country. 

At  roll-call  in  Company  H,  no  voice  would  henceforth  re- 
spond to  my  name  distorted.  My  comrades  would  curse  my 
memory.  It  must  be  my  duty  to  battle  against  friends 
by  whose  sides  I  had  faced  danger  and  death.  The  glory  of 
the  Confederate  victories  would  now  bring  me  pain  and  not 
joy.     Oh!  the  deepness  of  the  woe ! 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  I  should  recover  my  life  and  make 
it  complete.  I  muht  atone  for  the  unconscious  guilt  of  a  past 
gorgeous  yet  criminal  —  a  past  which  I  had  striven  to  sow 
with  the  seeds  of  a  barbarous  future.  I  should  be  with  the 
Doctor ;  I  should  be  myself,  and  always  myself,  for  I  knew 
that  my  mind  should  nevermore  suffer  a  repetition  of  the 
mysterious  affliction  which  had  changed  me.  My  malady  had 
departed  forever;  and  with  this  knowledge  there  had  come 
upon  the  glimmering  emotions  of  repressed  passion  the  almost 
overpowering  consciousness  that  there  was  a  woman  in  the 
world. 

I  sought  the  low  ground  bordering  the  river.     My  compan- 

468 


EEPARATION  469 

ions  had  gone ;  I  would  go.  There  was  none  to  stop  me ;  none 
to  know  my  going.  I  wept  and  laughed.  I  had  no  fear. 
Nothing  was  present  —  all  was  past  and  future.  I  was  strong 
and  well.  With  my  healing  had  come  a  revolution  of  another 
kind  —  a  physical  change  which  I  felt  would  make  of  me  a 
different  creature  from  the  poor  moody  rebel  in  rags,  or  even 
the  groping  Yankee  spy  of  the  day  and  of  the  year  before. 

How  I  loved  and  pitied  the  men  of  Company  H !  They 
were  devoted  and  true.  No  matter  what  should  befall  them, 
they  would  continue  to  be  true  and  loyal  to  their  instincts  of 
duty.  Misfortune,  even  the  blackest  disaster,  seems  before 
them ;  but  I  know  them  for  courage  and  for  fortitude  to  be  the 
equals,  at  least,  of  any  who  may  conquer  them.  Their  soldierly 
honour  will  be  maintained  even  when  they  go  down  in  defeat, 
as  they  must ;  never  will  shame  lay  its  touch  upon  their  ways, 
no  matter  what  their  destiny.  I  honour  them,  more  now  since 
I  know  the  might  of  their  enemies ;  I  love  them ;  I  am  proud 
of  their  high  deeds,  but  I  am  done  with  them.  In  my  heart 
alone  can  I  do  them  reverence.  My  hand  must  be  against 
them,  as  it  has  been  for  them. 

Rations  ?  Eations !  The  Federals  say  rations  !  Why  did  I 
not  follow  that  clew  ? 

*  *  *  #  *  #  * 

Poor  old  Willis !  .  .  .   he  refused  to  strike !  .  .  . 

I  went  up  the  sloping  edge  of  the  river's  brink,  seeking  a 
place  to  cross.  My  mind  was  wondrously  alert.  At  my  right 
the  dawn  was  lighting  the  sky.  Behind  me  and  at  my  left,  I 
could  hear  the  well-known  sounds  of  a  moving  army  —  an  army 
which  had  been  my  pride  and  now  must  be  my  enemy.  How 
often  had  I  followed  the  red  flag !  How  I  had  raised  my 
voice  in  the  tumult  of  the  charge  —  mingling  no  dissentient 
note  in  the  mighty  concert  of  the  fierce  old  rebel  yell ! 

What  will  they  think  of  me  ?     I  know  full  well  what  they 


470  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

will  think,  and  the  knowledge  makes  my  heart  ache  and 
almost  cease  to  beat.  They  will  say  —  some  of  them —  that 
Jones  has  gone  to  the  Yankees ;  not  at  once  will  they  say  that, 
but  in  a  week  or  two  when  hope  of  my  return  has  been  aban- 
doned—  and  a  few  will  say  that  Jones  has  lost  his  mind  and 
has  wandered  off.  The  first  —  the  unkind  —  will  be  right, 
and  they  will  be  wrong.  The  others  —  the  generous  —  will  be 
utterly  wrong.  I  have  not  lost  my  mind ;  I  have  found  it, 
and  found  it  "  for  good."  The  report  of  my  desertion  will 
come  to  Adjutant  Haskell  and  to  Dr.  Frost,  perhaps.  Will 
they  tell  ?  I  hope  not.  Will  they  suspect  the  truth  ?  I 
wish  it,  but  I  cannot  hope  it. 

Let  Berwick  Jones  be  dead  and  buried  and  forgotten ;  let 
Jones  Berwick  live  from  this  night  as  he  never  lived.  The 
Doctor  says  men  live  forever.  I  believe  it.  If  man  can  live 
through  the  worse  than  death  which  I  have  passed  through 
alive,  he  is  eternal.  I  shall  never  die.  On  through  the  ages ! 
That  bright  star  —  almost  the  only  one  left  in  the  graying  sky 
—  has  but  the  age  of  an  infant.     I  saw  it  born  ! 

I  found  a  shallow  place  in  the  river  and  crossed.  The  sun 
was  up ;  I  kept  it  on  my  right.  What  should  I  do  and  say 
when  I  should  reach  our  men  ?  Our  men  !  how  odd  the 
thought  sounded !  I  must  get  to  them  quickly.  The  rebels 
were  moving.  The  whole  of  two  corps  of  infantry  were  seek- 
ing to  fall  upon  our  rear.  I  must  hasten,  or  there  would  be  a 
third  Bull  Eun, 

But  what  can  I  say  ?  How  can  I  make  them  believe  ?  How 
can  I  avoid  being  captured,  and  brought  before  the  officers  as  a 
rebel  ?  I  will  call  for  Dr.  Khayme  to  bear  out  my  words.  I 
will  appeal  to  General  Morell  and  to  General  Grover.  But  all 
this  will  take  time.  The  loss  of  a  day,  half  a  day,  an  hour, 
means  defeat.  Meade's  army  ought  to  be  falling  back  now. 
To  retreat  at  once  may  save  it  —  to  delay  means  terrible 
disaster. 

I  hasten  on,  thinking  always  what  I  shall  say,  what  I  shall 


REPARATION  471 

do,  to  make  the  generals  believe.  Oh !  if  I  can  but  cause  a 
speedy  retreat  of  the  army,  a  safe  retreat  from  the  toils  laid 
for  its  destruction,  I  shall  be  happy.  I  will  even  say  that 
my  service  as  a  Confederate  was  a  small  price  to  pay  .  .  . 
what  had  the  Doctor  said  ?  He  had  said  that  my  infirmity  wa^ 
a  power  !  He  had  said  that  he  could  imagine  cases  in  which 
my  peculiar  aiSiction  would  give  great  opportunity  for  serving 
the  country.  What  a  mind  that  man  has  !  He  is  to  be  feared. 
I  wonder  if  he  has  had  active  part  in  what  has  befallen  me. 

I  keep  a  straight  north  course  over  hill  and  hollow,  through 
wood  and  field,  crossing  narrow  roads  that  lead  nowhere. 
Farmhouses  and  fields  and  groves  and  streams  and  roads  I 
pass  in  haste,  knowing  or  feeling  that  I  shall  find  no  help 
here.  Here  I  shun  nothing ;  here  I  seek  nothing  —  beyond 
this  region  are  the  people  I  want.  What  can  I  say  ?  what 
can  I  prove  ?  This  is  the  question  that  troubles  me.  If  I 
say  that  I  am  a  Union  soldier,  I  must  tell  the  whole  truth, 
and  that  I  cannot  do ;  besides,  it  would  not  be  believed.  If 
I  say  I  am  a  deserter,  my  declarations  as  to  Lee's  movement 
will  not  be  taken  without  suspicion.  What  shall  I  do  ?  If  I 
could  but  get  a  horse ;  if  I  could  but  get  Federal  clothing ;  I 
might  hope  to  find  a  horse,  but  to  get  a  blue  uniform  seems 
impossible.  I  must  go  as  I  am,  and  as  I  can.  If  I  could  but 
find  Dr.  Khayme  !  But  I  know  not  how  to  find  him.  If  he 
is  yet  with  the  army,  he  is  somewhere  in  its  rear.  Is  he  yet 
with  the  army  ?  Is  he  yet  alive  ?  And  Lydia  ?  My  God, 
what  might  have  happened  to  her  in  so  many  long  months  ! 
Yet,  I  have  trust.  I  shall  find  the  Doctor,  and  I  shall  find 
Lydia,  but  I  cannot  go  at  once  to  them  ;  I  must  lose  no  time ; 
to  seek  the  Doctor  might  be  ruin.  I  must  go  as  fast  as  possible 
to  the  general  headquarters. 

To  the  southeast  I  hear  the  boom  of  a  distant  gun  —  and 
another.  I  hurry  on.  What  do  they  mean  by  fighting  down 
there  ? 

I  keep  looking  out  for  a  horse,  but  I  see  none  —  none  in  the 


472  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

fields  or  roads  or  pastures  or  lots.  This  war-stricken  land  is 
bare.  No  smoke  rises  from  the  farmhouses.  The  fields  are 
untilled;  the  roads  are  untravelled.  There  are  no  horses  in 
such  a  land. 

I  reach  a  wide  public  road  running  east  and  west.  Hoof- 
prints  cover  the  road  —  hoof -prints  going  west ;  our  cavalry  ; 
I  almost  shout  and  weep  for  joy.  The  cavalry  will  certainly 
detect  Lee's  movement.     That  is,  if  they  go  far  enough  west. 

Again  the  dull  booming  of  cannon  in  the  far  southeast. 
What  does  it  mean  ?  It  means,  I  know  it,  I  feel  certain  of 
it,  it  means  that  Lee  is  preventing  Meade's  retreat  by  deceiv- 
ing him.     Those  guns  are  only  to  deceive. 

On  the  wide  public  road  I  turn  eastward  —  straight  down 
the  road.     Other  cavalry  may  be  coming  or  going. 

The  road  turns  sharply  toward  the  northeast.  I  cease 
to  follow  it.  I  go  straight  eastward,  hoping  to  shorten  the 
way  and  find  the  road  beyond  the  hill.  AVhat  is  that  I  see 
through  the  trees  ?  It  looks  like  a  man.  It  is  a  man,  and  in 
blue  uniform.  Erom  mere  habit  I  cock  my  rifle  and  hold  it  at 
the  ready.  I  cannot  see  that  he  is  armed.  I  go  straight  to 
him.  He  is  lying  on  the  ground,  with  his  back  toward  me. 
He  hears  me.  He  rises  to  his  feet.  He  is  unarmed.  He  is 
greatly  astonished,  but  is  silent. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  I  surrender,"  he  says. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  I  say  ;  "  guide  me  at  once  to  the  nearest 
body  of  your  men." 

He  opens  wide  eyes.  He  says,  "All  right,  if  that's  your 
game." 

He  leads  me  in  a  southerly  direction,  takes  a  road  toward 
the  west,  and  goes  on.  Suddenly  he  says,  "  You  are  coming 
over  to  us  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Then  let  me  have  the  gun,"  he  says. 

I  do  not  reply  at  once.     Why  does  he  want  the  gun  ?     Is  it 


REPARATION  473 

in  order  to  claim  that  he  has  captured  me  ?  If  so,  my  infor- 
mation will  not  be  believed ;  it  may  be  thought  intended  to 
mislead.  Then  again,  it  is  not  impossible  that  this  man  is  a 
deserter ;  if  that  be  the  case,  he  wants  to  march  me  back  to  the 
rebels,  just  as  I  am  marching  him  back  to  the  Union  army. 
He  may  be  a  Confederate  spy.  I  shall  not  give  him  the  gun. 
But  I  will  make  him  talk. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  the  gun  ?  " 

"  Oh,  never  mind.  Keep  your  gun ;  it  don't  make  any 
difference,"  he  says. 

He  keeps  on,  going  more  rapidly  than  before.  We  go  up 
hill  and  down  hill,  hardly  changing  direction. 

Suddenly  he  says,  without  looking  back  at  me,  "  Say,  Johnny, 
what  made  you  quit  ?  " 

"  My  mind  changed,"  I  say. 

He  looks  back  at  me  ;  I  can  see  contempt  in  his  face.  He 
says,  "  I  wouldn't  say  that,  if  I  was  you." 

"  Why  not,  since  it  is  true  ?  " 

"  It  will  do  you  no  good." 

"  But  why  ?  " 

"True  men  don't  change  their  minds.  But  it's  all  one  to 
me.     Do  as  you  please." 

He  is  right,  I  think.  Nobody  will  believe  me  if  I  speak  the 
whole  truth. 

I  say  no  more.  Soon  we  see  cavalry.  We  walk  straight  to 
them.  Their  leader  speaks  to  my  companion.  "  Thomas,  you 
seem  to  have  done  a  good  job.  How  did  you  happen  to  get 
him  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  get  him.    He  got  me.    He  says  he  has  come  over." 

"  Captain,"  I  say,  "  send  me  at  once  to  General  Meade.  I 
have  information  of  extreme  importance  to  give  him." 

"Well,  now,  my  good  fellow,"  he  says,  "just  give  it  to  me, 
if  you  please." 

"  I  am  ready  to  give  you  the  information,"  I  say,  "  but  I 
must  make  a  condition." 


474  WHO   GOES  THEKE  ? 

"  Wliat  is  your  condition  ?  "  he  asks,  frowning  slightly. 

"  That  you  will  not  seek  to  know  who  I  am,  and  that  you 
will  send  me  to  General  Meade  at  once." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  making  two  conditions." 

"  Well,  sir,"  I  reply,  "  the  first  is  personal,  and  ought  not  to 
count.     If  you  object  to  it,  however,  I  withdraw  it." 

"  Then,  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  decline  to  say." 

"  Well,  it  makes  no  difference  to  me  who  you  are,  but  I 
should  like  to  know  how  I  am  to  rely  on  what  you  tell." 

"  Captain,"  I  say,  "  we  are  losing  valuable  time.  Put  me 
on  a  horse,  and  send  me  under  guard  to  General  Meade ;  you 
ride  with  me  until  I  tell  what  I  have  to  tell." 

"That  sounds  like  good  sense.  Here,  Thomas,  get  your 
horse,  and  another  for  this  man." 

Two  minutes  pass  and  we  are  on  the  road.  The  captain 
says :  "  You  see,  I  am  giving  you  an  escort  rather  than  a  guard. 
You  served  Thomas ;  now  let  him  serve  you.  What  is  it  you 
want  to  tell  ?  " 

"  Ewell  and  Hill  are  at  this  moment  marching  around  our  — 
I  mean  your  flank." 

"  The  devil  you  say !     Infantry  ?  " 

"  The  whole  of  Ewell's  corps  and  the  whole  of  Hill's  —  six 
divisions." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  How  am  I  to  know  that  you 
are  telling  me  the  truth  ?  " 

"  I  am  in  your  hands.  Question  me  and  see  if  I  lie  in  word 
or  countenance." 

"  When  did  Ewell  begin  his  march  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know." 

"  When  did  Hill  march  ?  " 

"  He  began  to  move  on  the  8th." 

"  Where  was  he  before  that  date  ?  " 

"In  camp  near  Orange  Court-House." 

"  Who  commands  the  divisions  of  Hill's  corps  ?  " 


EEPARATIOK  476 

"  Heth,  Anderson,  and  Wilcox." 

"  Which  division  is  yours  ?  " 

"  Please  withdraw  that  question." 

"  With  great  pleasure.  Where  did  Hill's  corps  cainp  on  the 
night  of  the  8th  ?  " 

"  Near  the  Rapidan,  on  the  south  side." 

''  Where  did  Hill  camp  on  the  night  of  the  9th  ?  " 

"  About  two  miles  this  side  of  Madison  Court-House." 

"  Where  on  the  10th  ?  " 

"  The  night  of  the  10th  near  Culpeper." 

«  And  where  on  the  11th  ?  " 

"  Last  night  Hill's  corps  was  just  south  of  North  Fork ; 
only  a  few  miles  from  Jeffersonton." 

"  And  where  was  Ewell's  corps  ?  " 

"I  know  nothing  of  Ewell's  corps,  except  one  thing:  it 
passed  Hill's  yesterday  afternoon." 

"  Going  up  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  it  went  toward  our  right." 

"  Do  you  know  how  many  divisions  are  under  Ewell  ?  " 

"  Three." 

"  Who  commands  them  ?  " 

"  Early,  Johnson,  and  Rodes." 

"  Where  is  Hill's  corps  to-day  ?  " 

"  It  began  to  move  up  the  river  at  daybreak," 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  of  importance  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  and  I  know  what  I  say.  General  Meade  is  in  danger. 
General  Lee's  movement  corresponds  exactly,  thus  far,  with 
Jackson's  march  last  year  around  General  Pope."  I  say  this 
very  earnestly,  and  continue :  "  You  ought  to  know  that  I  am 
telling  you  the  truth.  A  man  coming  into  your  lines  and 
ordering  an  unarmed  man  to  take  him  to  you,  ought  to  be 
believed." 

"  There  is  something  in  that,"  he  says ;  "  yet  it  would  not 
be  an  impossible  method  of  deceiving,  especially  if  the  man 
were  tired  of  life,"  and  he  looks  at  me  searchingly,     I  return 


476  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

his  look,  but  say  nothing.  I  know  that  my  appearance  is  the 
opposite  of  prepossessing.  The  homeliest  rebel  in  the  South 
is  not  uglier  than  I  am.  The  strain  to  which  I  have  been  sub- 
jected for  days  and  weeks,  and  especially  for  the  last  forty- 
eight  hours,  must  be  telling  fearfully  upon  me.  Uncouth, 
dirty,  ragged,  starved,  weak  through  fever  and  strong  through 
unnatural  excitement,  there  can  be  no  wonder  that  the  captain 
thinks  me  wild.  He  may  suspect  that  such  a  creature  is  seek- 
ing the  presence  of  General  Meade  in  order  to  assassinate  him. 

"  Captain,"  said  I,  "  you  have  my  arms.  Search  me  for  other 
weapons.  Bind  my  hands  behind  my  back,  and  tie  my  feet 
under  this  horse's  belly.  All  I  ask  is  to  have  speech  with  Gen- 
eral Meade.  If  I  am  not  wi-etchedly  mistaken,  I  can  find  men 
near  him  who  will  vouch  for  me." 

"  Halt !  "  said  he.  "  Now,  Thomas,  you  will  continue  to 
escort  this  gentleman  to  headquarters.  Wait  there  for  orders, 
and  then  ride  for  your  life  to  General  Gregg.  Bring  back  the 
extra  horse." 

He  wrote  a  note  or  something,  and  handed  it  to  Thomas. 

"  Now,"  said  he  to  me,  "  I  cannot  say  that  I  trust  you  are 
telling  the  truth,  for  the  matter  is  too  dangerous.  I  hope  you 
are  deceived  in  some  way.     Good  luck  to  you." 

He  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  galloped  west. 

I  had  yielded  my  gun  to  Thomas.  At  his  saddle  hung  a 
carbine,  and  his  holsters  were  not  empty. 

"  Six  paces  in  front  of  me,  sir ! "  says  Thomas. 

We  go  on  at  a  trot.  It  is  now  fully  twelve  o'clock.  We  are 
nearing  the  river  again.  We  can  hear  the  rumbling  of  railroad 
trains,  directly  in  front  but  far  away. 

The  speed  we  are  making  is  too  slow.  I  dig  my  heels  into 
my  horse's  sides ;  he  breaks  into  a  gallop.  "  Stop ! "  roars 
Thomas.  I  do  not  stop.  I  say  nothing.  I  know  he  will  not 
shoot.  He  threatens  and  storms,  but  keeps  his  distance.  At 
length  he  makes  his  horse  bound  to  my  side,  and  I  feel  his 
hand  on  my  collar. 


EEPAEATION  477 

"  Are  you  crazy  ?  "  lie  shouts, 

I  fear  that  he  means  what  he  says.  I  pull  in  my  horse. 
Such  a  suspicion  may  ruin  my  plan. 

After  a  time  we  began  to  see  camps  ahead.  We  passed 
t'lrough  the  camps.  We  passed  troops  of  all  arms  and  wagon 
trains. 

At  last  we  reached  headquarters.  Thomas  reported  to  an 
aide,  giving  him  the  note.  I  was  admitted,  still  under  Thomas's 
guard,  before  the  general.  He  was  surrounded  by  many  officers 
and  couriers  and  orderlies.  The  aide  approached  the  general, 
who  turned  and  looked  at  me.  The  general  held  the  note  in 
his  hand. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Jones  Berwick,  Jr.,  sir,"  said  I. 

"  What  brigade  ?  " 

"  McGrOwan's." 

"  What  state  is  McGowan's  brigade  from?  " 

«  South  Carolina." 

"AVhat  division?" 

"  Wilcox's." 

"  How  many  brigades  are  in  that  division  ?  '* 

"  Four,  General." 

"  Name  them." 

"  Lane's,  Scales's,  Thomas's,  and  McGowan's." 

"  From  what  states  ?  " 

"  Lane's  and  Scales's  are  from  North  Carolina.  Thomas's 
brigade  is  from  Georgia." 

"  When  did  you  leave  the  reb  —  when  did  you  leave  the 
enemy  ?  " 

"This  morning,  sir,  before  daylight." 

"  You  say  that  a  movement  was  in  progress  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

«  What  ?  " 

"  General  Lee's  army  was  moving  up  the  river,  sir." 

"  Up  what  river  ?  " 


478  WHO   GOES   THERE? 

"  The  Hedgeman.     The  North  Fork." 

"  You  say  the  army  ?     General  Lee's  army  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  all  but  Longstreet's  corps,  which  has  gone  to 
Georgia." 

"  Did  you  see  the  other  troops  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  all  of  the  Second  and  the  Third  corps." 

"  Did  you  see  both  corps  ?  " 

"I  was  in  Hill's  corps,  General,  and  Ewell's  passed  Hill's 
in  the  afternoon  of  yesterday ;  Ewell's  corps  was  many  hours 
passing." 

The  officers  standing  about  were  attentive,  even  serious. 
General  Meade's  face  showed  interest,  but  not  grave  con- 
cern. 

"  How  can  I  know  that  you  are  not  deceiving  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  nothing  on  me  to  prove  my  character,  General,  but 
there  are  some  officers  and  men  in  your  army  who  would 
vouch  for  me  if  they  were  here." 

"  Who  are  they  ?  " 

"  General  Morell  is  one,  sir." 

All  the  officers,  as  well  as  the  general,  now  stared  at  me.  I 
saw  one  of  them  tap  his  forehead. 

"  What  are  you  to  General  Morell  ?  "  asked  the  commander. 

"  General  Grover  also  would  vouch  for  me,  sir." 

"  You  do  not  answer  my  question.  Answer  promptly,  and 
without  evasion.     What  are  you  to  General  Morell  ?  " 

"  Nothing  now,  sir.  Our  relations  have  ceased ;  yet  I  am 
sure  that  he  would  know  me  and  believe  me." 

"  What  are  you  to  General  Grover  ?  " 

"  He  knew  me.  General." 

"Well,  sir,  neither  General  Morell  nor  General  Grover  is 
now  with  this  army.  You  have  a  peculiar  way  of  calling  for 
absent  witnesses." 

"  I  believe.  General,  that  General  Fitz-John  Porter  would 
bear  me  out." 

"  General  Porter  is  no  longer  in  this  army." 


REPARATION  479 

"Then  General  Butterfield." 

"  General  Butterfield  is  no  longer  in  this  army." 

I  was  staggered.  What  I  was  trying  to  do  was  to  avoid 
calling  for  Dr.  Khayme,  who,  I  feared,  would  betray  me 
through  surprise.  What  had  become  of  all  these  generals  ? 
Even  General  McClellan,  who  by  bare  possibility  might  have 
heard  of  me  through  General  IMorell,  was,  as  I  knew  very 
well,  far  from  this  army.  Certainly  the  war  had  been  hard 
on  the  general  officers  of  this  Army  of  the  Potomac.  I  would 
risk  one  more  name. 

"  Then,  General,  I  should  be  glad  to  see  Colonel  Blaisdell." 

"  What  Colonel  Blaisdell  ?     What  regiment  ?  " 

"  Eleventh  Massachusetts,  sir." 

General  Meade  looked  at  an  officer.  The  officer  shook  his 
head  slightly. 

"  ISTor  is  Colonel  Blaisdell  here,  my  good  fellow.  Now 
I  am  going  to  ask  you  some  questions,  and  I  think  it  well  to 
advise  you  to  answer  quickly  and  without  many  words.  How 
do  you  happen  to  know  that  the  colonel  of  the  Eleventh  Massa- 
chusetts is  named  Blaisdell  ?  " 

I  did  not  know  what  to  say.  If  I  had  been  with  General 
Meade  alone,  I  should  have  confided  in  him  at  this  moment  — 
yet  the  idea  again  came  that  he  would  have  considered  me  a 
lunatic.  I  had  to  answer  quickly,  so  I  said,  "  I  had  friends  in 
that  regiment.  General." 

The  officers  had  gathered  around  their  commander  as  close  as 
etiquette  allowed.  They  were  looking  on,  and  listening  —  some 
of  them  very  serious  —  others  with  sneers. 

"  Name  one  of  your  friends." 

"  John  Lawler,  sir." 

"  What  company  ?  " 

"Company  D." 

An  officer  wrote  something,  and  an  orderly  went  off. 

"  Now,"  said  the  general,  "  how  is  it  that  you  seem  to  know 
General  Grover  and  General  Butterfield  —  stop  !     What  bri- 


480  WHO   GOES  THERE? 

gade  did  General  Grover  command  ?  Where  was  it  that  you 
knew  him  ?  " 

"  General,  I  beg  of  you  that  you  will  not  force  me  to  answer. 
The  information  I  bring  you  is  true.  What  I  might  say  of 
General  Grover  would  not  prove  me  to  be  true.  I  beg  to  ask 
if  Dr.  Khayme,  of  the  Sanitary  Commission,  is  with  the 
army  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  general,  after  again  questioning  his  aide 
with  a  look. 

"  He  will  vouch  for  me,  sir,"  said  I. 

A  second  orderly  was  sent  off. 

All  the  officers  now  looked  grave.  The  general  continued 
to  question  me.  I  had  two  things  to  think  of  at  once,  —  replies 
to  the  general,  and  a  plan  to  prevent  a  scene  when  the  Doctor 
appeared, 

"  How  far  up  the  river  was  Lee's  infantry  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Near  Jeffersonton,  sir,  moving  on  up."  How  could  I  keep 
the  Doctor  quiet  ?  I  knew  not.  I  could  only  hope  that  his 
wonderful  self-control  would  not  even  now  desert  him. 

"  How  do  you  know  they  were  still  moving  ?  " 

"  Hill's  corps  began  to  move  just  before  day.  I  could  hear 
the  movement,  sir."  Doctor  Khayme  might  save  me  or  might 
undo  me  ;  on  his  conduct  depended  my  peace  for  the  future. 
If  he  should  betray  me,  I  should  henceforth  be  a  living 
curiosity. 

"Why  did  you  not  start  yesterday,  sir?"  asked  the 
general. 

The  question  was  hard.  It  did  not  seem  relevant.  I  knew 
not  how  to  answer.     I  was  silent. 

"  I  asked  why  you  did  not  start  yesterday  ?  " 

"  Start  where,  General  ?  " 

"  For  this  army.  Did  you  not  know  on  yesterday  that  Lee 
was  moving  ?  If  you  intended  to  be  of  service  to  us,  why  did 
you  delay  ?  " 

Here  was  an  opening. 


REPARATION"  481 

"  Circumstances  were  such  that  I  could  not  leave  yesterday, 
General ;  besides,  it  was  only  last  night  that  I  became  convinced 
of  the  nature  of  General  Lee's  movement."  I  was  hoping  that 
I  could  give  the  Doctor  some  signal  before  he  should  speak  — 
before  he  should  recognize  me.  I  was  determined  to  prevent 
his  exposing  me,  no  matter  at  what  personal  risk. 

"  And  how  did  you  become  convinced  ?  "  asked  the  general. 

"  It  was  the  universal  opinion  of  the  men  that  convinced  me, 
General.  But  that  was  only  additional  to  the  circumstances  of 
position  and  direction  of  march." 

"The  men  ?     What  do  the  men  know  of  such  things  ?  " 

"  The  men  I  speak  of,  General,  were  all  familiar  with  the 
country,  from  having  marched  over  it  many  times.  They 
were  in  the  August  campaign  of  last  year;  they  said  that  the 
present  movement  could  mean  nothing  except  a  repetition  of 
General  Jackson's  flank  march  of  last  year." 

The  general  looked  exceedingly  grave.  His  eyes  were 
always  upon  me.  The  officers  were  very  silent  —  motionless, 
except  for  glances  one  at  another. 

"  Were  you  in  Lee's  campaigns  last  year  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Were  you  under  Jackson  or  Longstreet  ?  " 

"  I  was  in  Jackson's  corps,  General." 

"  Did  you  make  the  march  under  him  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  this  march  of  Ewell  and  Hill  seems  similar  to  your 
march  of  last  year  ?  " 

"General,  last  year,  on  August  24th,  I  rejoined  General 
Jackson's  corps  at  the  very  place  where  I  left  Hill's  corps  this 
morning.  On  August  25th  last  year  General  Jackson  crossed 
the  Hedgeman  River  on  his  flank  march.  Hill's  corps  this 
morning  began  to  move  toward  the  crossing  of  the  river." 

"  Have  you  seen  General  Lee  in  the  last  few  days  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  but  I  have  seen  men  who  said  they  saw  him." 

"  Do  you  know  him  when  you  see  him  ?  " 
2i 


482  WHO  GOES  THERE? 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Have  you  seen  General  Hill  in  the  last  few  days  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  —  many  times." 

"  Have  you  seen  General  Ewell  ?  " 

"  I  would  not  know  General  Ewell,  sir." 

"  How,  then,  do  you  know  that  his  corps  is  up  the  river  ?  " 

"  His  entire  corps  passed  ours,  sir,  marching  to  our  right." 

"  When  ?  " 

"  Yesterday,  General." 

"  You  are  sure  it  was  Ewell's  whole  corps  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  great  column  of  infantry  and  nineteen  batteries  ; 
it  took  many  hours  to  march  by  us.  Many  of  the  men  in  the 
different  brigades  told  us  they  were  of  Ewell's  corps.  None 
of  us  doubted  it.  General." 

The  questions  of  the  general  continued.  I  thought  that  they 
were  for  the  purpose  of  testing  me ;  their  forms  were  various, 
without  change  of  substance. 

The  first  orderly  returned,  followed  closely  by  the  second. 
They  reported  to  an  aide,  who  then  spoke  in  a  low  voice  to 
General  Meade.     Soon  I  saw  Dr.  Khayme  approaching. 

The  Doctor  looked  as  ever.  I  said  hurriedly  to  General 
Meade,  "  General,  I  beg  that  you  let  me  see  Dr.  Khayme 
alone ;  let  me  go  to  meet  him,  if  but  a  few  yards." 

The  general  looked  at  his  aide,  then  shook  his  head. 

I  cried  out :  "  Doctor,  hold  your  peace !  Say  nothing  but  yes 
or  no ! " 

General  Meade  and  all  his  staff  looked  at  me  with  anger. 

The  Doctor  had  come  up.     He  said  not  a  word. 

Intense  gravity  was  all  over  him. 

General  Meade  said,  "  Doctor,  do  you  know  this  man  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

<'  Who  is  he  ?  " 

The  Doctor  smiled  very  faintly,  then  became  serious  again, 
and  shook  his  head  ;  "  I  obey  orders.  General,"  he  said. 

"  Then  reply,"  said  the  general. 


REPAEATION  483 

"  I  am  commanded  to  say  yes  or  no,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  I 
suppose,  however,  there  is  no  objection  ?  "  looking  at  me.  I 
inclined  my  head.  Etiquette  could  no  longer  restrain  the  staff. 
We  were  all  in  a  huddle. 

"  He  is  Jones  Berwick,"  said  Dr.  Khayme. 

"  Do  you  vouch  for  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  General." 

"  He  brings  information  of  great  import,  if  true ;  there  is 
immense  danger  in  accepting  it,  if  false." 

"  I  will  answer  for  him  with  my  life,  General." 

"  But  may  he  not  be  deceived  ?  May  you  not  be  deceived 
in  him  ?  And  he  will  tell  nothing  except  what  he  wishes  to 
tell ! " 

"  General,  let  me  say  a  few  words  to  him  and  to  you." 

"All  right."  He  made  a  movement,  and  his  staff  dispersed 
— very  reluctantly,  no  doubt,  but  quickly  enough. 

"  Now,  Jones,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  I  think  you 
may  confide  in  the  general.  You  see.  General,  there  is  a  pri- 
vate matter  in  which  my  friend  here  is  greatly  interested,  and 
which  he  does  not  want  everybody  to  hear." 

"  He  may  rely  on  my  confidence  in  matters  personal  —  and 
if  he  is  bringing  me  the  truth,  he  may  rely  on  my  protection," 
said  the  general ;  "  now  speak  up  and  convince  me,  and  be 
quick." 

"  General,"  I  said,  "  I  went  into  the  rebel  army  as  a  Union 
spy.  I  am  a  regularly  enlisted  man  in  the  Eleventh  Massa- 
chusetts." 

Dr.  Khayme  said,  "  That  is  true.  General." 

"  Then,"  roared  the  general,  "  then  why  the  hell  did  you  take 
so  long  to  tell  it  ?  " 

He  dashed  off  from  us.  He  called  his  aides.  He  began 
sending  des^Datches  like  the  woods  afire. 


XL 

CONCLUSION 

•'  And  all  that  was  death 
Grows  life,  grows  love, 
Grows  love."  —  Brownino. 

The  Doctor  held  my  hand. 

Couriers  and  aides  had  gone  flying  in  every  direction.  A 
hubbub  rose ;  clouds  of  dust  were  in  the  west  and  north  and 
east  and  south  —  everywhere.  The  Army  of  the  Potomac  was 
retreating. 

But  not  the  whole  army  as  yet.  Beyond  the  Rappahannock 
were  three  corps, — the  Sixth,  the  Fifth,  and  the  Second,  under 
Sedgwick,  Sykes,  and  Warren,  —  which  General  Meade  had 
thrown  forward  on  the  morning  of  this  day,  in  the  belief 
that  Lee  was  retiring.  Until  these  troops  should  succeed  in 
recrossing  to  the  north  side  of  the  river,  a  strong  force  must 
hold  the  bridges. 

Thomas  had  left  my  gun.  The  Doctor  shouldered  it.  I 
think  this  was  the  hrst  gun  he  had  ever  touched.  He  took 
me  with  him. 

Long  lines  of  wagons  and  cannon  were  driving  northward 
and  eastward  on  every  road.  The  Doctor  said  little.  Tears 
were  in  his  eyes  and  sobs  in  his  voice.  I  had  never  seen  him 
thus. 

We  reached  the  Sanitary  Camp.  The  tents  were  already 
struck,  and  the  wagons  ready  to  move. 

"  Stay  here  one  moment,  my  boy,"  the  Doctor  said. 

He  left  me  and  approached  an  ambulance,  into  which  I  could 
not  see ;  all  its  curtains  were  down.     He  raised  the  corner  of 

484 


CONCLUSION  485 

a  curtain,  remained  there  while  one  might  count  a  hundred  — 
or  a  million  —  and  came  back  to  me. 

"  Now  get  in,  Jones,"  he  said,  preparing  to  mount  his  horse. 

I  got  in. 

By  my  side  was  a  woman  .  ,  .  weeping. 

Lee's  guns  are  grumbling  in  all  the  southwest  quadrant  of  the 
horizon.  In  the  west  Gregg's  cavalry  impedes  the  advance  of 
A.  P.  Hill;  in  the  south  Fitzhugh  Lee  is  pressing  hard  upon 
Buford. 

The  retreat  continues ;  I  hold  a  woman's  hand  in  mine. 
*  *  *  *  #  #  * 

Past  the  middle  of  an  autumn  night,  where  thick  forests 
added  to  the  darkness  fitfully  relieved  by  the  fires  of  hasty 
bivouacs,  there  sat,  apart  from  cannon  and  bayonets  and  sleep- 
ing battalions,  a  group  of  three. 

One  was  a  man  of  years  and  of  thought  and  of  many  vir- 
tues—  at  least  a  sage,  at  least  a  hero. 

One  was  a  woman,  young  and  sweet  and  pure  and  devoted. 

One  was  a  common  soldier. 


**  A  great  book,  great  alike  in  beauty  and  in  depthT 

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THE  REIGN  OF  LAW 

A   TALE    OF    THE    KENTUCKY    HEMP    FIELDS 

By   JAMES   LANE   ALLEN 

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unusual  grasp  of  thought.  ...  It  is  primarily  the  work  of  an  artist  to  whom 
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The  Outlook. 

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been  done  in  America  of  recent  years.  But  '  fine  '  is  an  overworked  adjective 
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"  Over  and  above  the  story,  one  is  impressed  with  the  purity,  the  lofty  dig- 
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THE   BANKER  AND  THE   BEAR 

A  STORY  OF  A  CORNER    IN   LARD 

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book  into  high  favor."  —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

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A  TALE  OF  THE  FALL  OF  THE  ROMAN   REPUBLIC 

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say  so  is  to  give  a  most  meagre  idea  of  the  large  sustained  interest  of  the  whole. 
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VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 


By   FLORA  ANNIE   STEEL 

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"  A  novel  which  grows  in  power  and  interest  ...  as  it  nears  its  climax  ,  .  . 
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West. 

"The  greatest  study  of  American  social  life  .  .  .  ever  contributed  to  Ameri- 
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THE   BENNETT  TWIN5 

By   GRACE   MARGUERITE   HURD 
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A  brilliant  and  amusing  story,  the  scene  of  which  is  laid  among  the  men  and 
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